


Words On Skin,

by KittieHill



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, An overwhelming amount of British reserve, Anal Sex, Ballet Dancer Sherlock, Bottom Mycroft, Boys Kissing, Brief Racist Language - For a case, Brotherly Love, Coming Untouched, Condoms, Disguise, Dont read if you dont like incest, Drug Addiction, Drug Withdrawal, First Time, Fluff, Hint of Rimming, Its taking over my life, Like, M/M, Mycroft is a Softie really, Mycroft is supportive, Mycroft loves his brother, Oral Sex, Protected Sex, Quick Handjob, Reminiscing, Sherlock Makes Deductions, Sherlock Solves a Crime, Sherlock being Working Class, Sherlock starts his Homeless Network, Sibling Incest, Sibling Kissing, Skinheads, Sweetness, Terrorism, Terrorism Plots, The writer has lost her damn mind, This story is getting out of hand, Top Sherlock, Various ages, brothers kissing, holmescest, really - Freeform, sherlock is a sweetheart, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-01 12:27:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2773001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/pseuds/KittieHill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Comments loved, please let me know what you think so i can change/edit anything.</p><p>Each chapter will have tags added to ensure full awareness of triggers etc. Will include full sibling incest</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An East Wind,

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rejiggling the story, editing and adding a last chapter. Not beta'd.

Sherlock had always been an independent and strong willed child; his experiments and dedication to science ensured that he was constantly outside looking for new flowers to dissect or watching bees bobbing in the air. He was happy and normal with a much higher IQ than most children his age but his parents hadn’t worried about it too much, two children geniuses in the family was a good thing.

Mycroft was quieter; prone to headaches and anxiety he preferred being inside with a book to running around the manor grounds with his little brother. He adored his baby brother, Sherlock was always so sweet and eager to please that it was impossible _not_ to love him and savour the moments they spent together. Sherlock would drag Mycroft under the shade of the large tree by the stream and together they would sit in silence, watching the world pass around them whilst playing a game which they had invented many years before.

It had started on a family trip to see some dreadful Aunt in Scotland. Mycroft and Sherlock had been put into the back of the car whilst Mummy and Daddy drove along the long and boring motorways on the way up North. Sherlock had become bored almost immediately and complained often and loudly at how dull the journey was which led to Mycroft inventing the game ‘Words on Skin’. The rules were simple, eye spy without talking, Sherlock must look around and find something and then spell the word out just by tracing the word onto the palm of Mycroft’s hand. Sherlock had been suspicious of Mycroft’s motives at first but soon became engrossed in the game, spelling out the Latin names of wild flowers or birds which swooped over the car until he had fallen asleep. His head resting on Mycroft’s shoulder and a small line of drool staining Mycroft’s expensive tailored suit which mummy had insisted they both wear.

Mycroft remembered back to that happy time in the car; the holiday had been a disaster with Sherlock upsetting the mad old aunt as he experimented in her kitchen and exploded her Aga oven with chemicals he had found in the shed. Sherlock had been no older than 6 at the time, still the picture of innocence with his bouncing brown curls and huge colourless eyes. He had cried when mummy shouted at him and sent him to his room without supper, Mycroft had stealthily sneaked food upstairs and had an impromptu picnic in a fort made by Sherlock’s bedding. The brothers then curled up together on the bed and played their game whilst Mycroft told Sherlock stories about the wars;

“During the first world war, the German’s were waiting for the perfect weather to unleash a new and terrible weapon upon the Canadians and French. The weapon was Chlorine Gas and they had 168 tonnes of it but they couldn’t use it until the wind changed… they needed an east wind”

Sherlock shuddered and cuddled into the flesh of Mycroft’s side; he brought his thumb into his mouth and began to suck childishly onto the digit looking up at Mycroft’s teenage face wondering whether he would ever be as smart as his amazing big brother. Mycroft bent and kissed Sherlock’s forehead and tucked him into bed, scrawling _‘I love you’_ onto his palm before leaving for his own room.

Mycroft was dozing in his own bed; his eyes falling closed as he attempted to finish reading the devilishly boring chapter of his textbook on Naval Policy when he heard the bedroom door open and a nest of curls poke from around the sturdy wood.

“Lockie?” Mycroft groaned sleepily “What’s the matter?”

Sherlock stood nervously biting his thumb in the doorframe as he looked over at his big brother lying comfortably in bed “I had a bad dream”

Mycroft frowned and patted the bed beside him, watching as Sherlock began walking towards the mattress dragging his teddy behind him. Sherlock climbed up the high bed and cuddled in beside his brother, curling his body around Mycroft’s own as he settled into the comfortable surroundings,

“What did you dream?” Mycroft asked carefully, stroking a damp curl from Sherlock’s forehead

“The East Wind” Sherlock stammered, his eyes filling with tears “It was coming for me”

Mycroft shook his head, angry at himself for scaring the small boy with scary stories before bed “its okay Lockie, it can’t hurt you now”

Sherlock looked unsure and bit his lower lip nervously “Can I stay here with you tonight?”

Mycroft nodded and pulled his body down the bed, wrapping his arm around Sherlock and bringing him closer to his torso. Sherlock reached for his brother’s hand and began skimming his fingers over the wrinkled skin of Mycroft’s palm, Mycroft attempted to keep himself awake but being curled up beside his beloved brother in a warm and comfortable bed had him lightly snoring before Sherlock had finished his first word.

* * *

 

Mycroft had left for university at seventeen leaving a confused and bewildered Sherlock to face life alone. He attempted to return as often as possible but the closeness between them had dissipated; Sherlock became an angry and quarrelsome teenager who had become isolated and mean in Mycroft’s absence, the younger Holmes would mock the elder about his weight, about his hair colour and the hurtful deductions which Mycroft had taught him to observe. Mycroft had attempted to speak to Sherlock, to create the loving bond between them once more but Sherlock had become withdrawn from his family and the people around him, preferring to sit alone in the garden and watch the world go by. Mycroft hated himself for hurting his brother but understood that pushing Sherlock would drive him further away.

The change began when Sherlock was twenty and Mycroft was twenty seven. He occupied a _minor_ position in the government and worked long and stressful hours to maintain national security due in part to his ‘Iceman’ demeanour and his unusual way of handling situations. The income from the job was extremely lucrative and included the use of a townhouse in an affluent area of London where Mycroft was able to relax and unwind after a stressful day.

Mycroft entered his home in the dark, the cold November nights engulfing London with frigid conditions and forcing Mycroft to light a fire in the drawing room before clicking on his antique gramophone and settling down in front of the fire with his newest intelligence files and a tumbler full of decadently expensive Scotch.

He had hardly begun to read when a noise startled him; he turned in his chair and looked behind him into the inky darkness of the room, seeing nothing he exhaled and took another sip of Scotch, feeling the burn travel down his throat as he flicked through a few more pages on likely terrorist attacks which were expected within the coming months. He rubbed his tired eyes and stared into the fire at the flickering and dancing flames,

A bang on the door caused him to jump and shake his head at his foolishness. He stood and smoothed down his suit before placing his Scotch on the table beside his chair as he walked to the door where the noise had originated. He carefully positioned himself in the best stance for attack before opening the door and finding a wet, cold and painfully thin Sherlock standing in his doorway. Mycroft gasped and grabbed his brother before he could fall, holding the freezing shadow of his sibling to his chest he closed the door and carried the smaller man to the living room, placing him on the expensive chase-long carefully,

“Sherlock? Sherlock talk to me!” Mycroft whispered, opening the fluttering eyelids to check Sherlock’s pupils,

“An east wind is blowing brother” Sherlock replied, his eyes glazed and fixed “an east wind”

Mycroft reeled back slightly as he looked over the form of his brother ‘relax now baby brother, you’re safe’ he soothed, running his hand through Sherlock’s matted and long hair.

Sherlock sniffed pitifully and grabbed Mycroft tighter, pulling the older man closer he grabbed onto Mycroft’s palm and silently traced _help_ onto the skin. 

* * *

 

Mycroft held Sherlock tightly; rocking him against his chest as Sherlock’s heaving sobs wracked his body. Mycroft had stripped to his vest and trousers as the pair fell onto the carpeted floor, allowing Sherlock to rest his cheek against the exposed skin of his brother’s shoulder; the warmth flooding through Sherlock’s body and heating his ice cold blood. The younger Holmes wrapped himself tightly into his brother, allowing himself to be rocked like an infant; safe in the knowledge that his brother cared.

The sound of heavy rain pelted the thick glass windows in the front of the house; a serene _taptaptaprap_ which seemed to fill the silence between the brothers. Mycroft held Sherlock tighter as the first crack of thunder peeled around the house, a low rumbling which seemed to shake the foundations of the building and caused Sherlock to whimper.

Sherlock had always been afraid of thunder and lightning; Mycroft had tried numerous times to explain the simple reasoning behind the flashes and loud cracks all to no avail. Sherlock had insisted on sleeping in his brother’s bed whenever a storm was brewing; until Mycroft left for university and Sherlock was alone. It had appeared that Sherlock had taken to hiding in his wardrobe and covering himself with his bedding until it passed.

Another flash of blue light lit up the room and caused Sherlock to keen loudly in his throat, grabbing for Mycroft’s hand tightly until his brother entwined their fingers together and soothed Sherlock with quiet shushing sounds.

The brothers sat silently; the only noise in the silent house being their breathing, Sherlock’s occasional whimper, the rain and the storm crashing overhead. 

* * *

 

“Have you eaten?” Mycroft asked some time later when Sherlock had finally relaxed enough to be coaxed from the living room floor and onto the comfortable sofa.

Sherlock shook his lank curls no and watched as Mycroft stood and walked to his fully stocked kitchen; opening and closing cupboards until he found something suitable for Sherlock. He grabbed a tin of soup and promptly opened it; pouring it into the saucepan he warmed it through and then dished it up on a tray, snagging the half full bag of bread from the counter on his way past.

Sherlock looked up to see his brother enter the room and then looked back down at the floor; embarrassment at his predicament had become overwhelming and his face burnt with shame as he watched Mycroft carrying a tray of food towards him. Sherlock looked down at the mottled and discoloured track marks on his arms and cringed visibly as he pulled down his shirt sleeves and sat up straight to await his first meal in days.

Mycroft handed the tray over to Sherlock with a weak smile; watching his younger brother hungrily attack the bowl of still steaming soup, pulling off chunks of bread and cramming them into his mouth without any evident manners. Mycroft attempted not to stare but he couldn’t help examining the body in front of him,

_The tired and red eyes, dark bags under the eyes meaning he can’t have slept for at least 2 days, unwashed, unshaved and far, far too thin. Visible track marks on the wrists and neck._

Mycroft shuddered and shook his head as he looked over at Sherlock sadly “How long?”

Sherlock stopped eating and met his brothers’ gaze before dropping his eyes ‘a year or so’ he shrugged “it has worsened recently”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Mycroft asked with a hurt tone in his voice,

“Would you have cared?” Sherlock replied, his eyes now filling with tears “You never bothered coming to see me”

Mycroft bristled visibly before setting his face back into its normal politician setting, cold and unflinching as he looked over his brother “You should bathe and then get some sleep. The spare room is made up for you” he said curtly before exiting the room towards his own bedroom.

* * *

Mycroft lay on his side; his knees pulled up to his chest as he sorted through his mind palace attempting to find missing information; how had he missed his brothers spiral into drugs? He picked through the wing dedicated to Sherlock and smiled at the memories of him and his brother cuddling together under the branches of the old oak tree, Sherlock listening intently to all of Mycroft’s stories whilst asking questions and begging for one more story before they had to return into the house.

The dipping of the mattress signalled another body climbing in beside him before a pair of cold feet were thrust between Mycroft’s warm calves; despite his anger towards his brothers’ selfish behaviour he couldn’t help but smile as he remembered the hours the pair had spent in the same position over the years. A lanky arm was thrown over Mycroft’s waist as Sherlock pulled himself closer to his brother, entwining their fingers.

“This isn’t acceptable Sherlock” Mycroft tried “You’re not a child any longer”

Sherlock was silent for a moment before his voice rumbled through Mycroft’s shoulder “I need you more now than I ever have”

Mycroft bit his lower lip and counted silently to ten before exhaling slowly and nodding “You understand that I cannot have your issues messing with my work”

Sherlock nodded his head, rubbing his forehead against Mycroft’s bare skin.

“But I love you, and I will help you all that I can” Mycroft said softly, squeezing Sherlock’s fingers tightly.

Sherlock choked back a sob and nodded his head against Mycroft’s back, his other hand trailing over the soft skin to spell out ‘ _I love you’_.

* * *

The night was a restless one; the storm had begun again causing Sherlock to cry out in alarm and grab for Mycroft’s sleeping body. Mycroft had immediately panicked at the unfamiliar sensations but quickly calmed himself, pulling Sherlock closer to him and allowing a nest of brown curls to rest upon his chest whilst his hands stroked calming patterns into Sherlock’s lower back,

Mycroft was drifting off to sleep as he heard Sherlock whisper to him and softly press a kiss to his sleep chapped lips.

“We’re not bad people”

* * *

 

Mycroft awoke before his alarm; switching it off quickly so it didn’t wake a snoring Sherlock he moved from the bed and pulled on his dressing gown. Padding barefoot to the kitchen he flicked on the kettle followed swiftly by the TV _(the rolling news station was the only channel which ever got used in the house so Mycroft was glad he didn’t have to hunt for the remote)_ checking over the main headlines he reasoned that there was no huge political or environmental disasters happening overnight and lifted his phone and calling Anthea his delightfully hardworking and discreet assistant;

“Good morning sir” she answered sweetly, Mycroft checked the time and saw it wasn’t yet 6am, he would have woke her up yet she sounded completely natural and awake despite it.

“Morning, I have some things to take care of at home today. Could you please ensure all relevant information is sent through to me on the secure email, please?”

“Certainly sir” Anthea replied, “Goodbye”

“Goodbye” Mycroft said softly hanging up the phone and walking back into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea and think about the situation with Sherlock.

It wasn’t exactly ideal to have a drug addict brother in any family, but in the Holmes family it could be career and personal suicide. Mycroft had risen quickly through the government due to his no nonsense approach and intelligence; a weakness such as Sherlock could be a gift for any or all of Mycroft’s rivals.

Mycroft was deep in thought as he wandered back into the living room with his tea; sitting on his comfortable leather armchair he blew the steam away from the liquid as he took a deep gulp feeling the heat travel down into his stomach. He created a list in his mind of all of the things he would need to do and picked up his phone to call his personal barber who assured him he would be there later in the afternoon when Sherlock was awake and lively. He also made a call to a doctor who was especially discreet in all things, the doctor agreed to give Sherlock a full medical examination and support Mycroft in the task of getting Sherlock clean.

Mycroft finished his tea in silence; the comforting chatter of the news reporters the only sound in the empty room.

* * *

It was almost 11am when Sherlock awoke; his mind fuzzy and confused at the opulent surroundings which he found himself in. It was only when he turned and looked at the empty space beside him which smelt so strongly of his brother that he realised where he was and what had happened. Sherlock had known that his drug use had become out of control; slowly spiralling into something he had no control over. When he had first dabbled with cocaine at university it was as an experiment, testing the purity and then seeing which was the best for occasional use but once he had been kicked out of yet another university it had taken more and more to find the same buzz leading him onto harder and less pure forms of drugs; namely heroin.

Sherlock retreated into his mind palace; remembering his childhood and the happy times he had spent with Mycroft. The hours they had wasted by the pond, sitting together silently watching the world go by had been Sherlock’s favourite; his big brother was his hero, his idol and Sherlock had ruined their bond by becoming a junkie, wasting his intellect and perception instead of using it for his advantage like Mycroft had done.

His stomach recoiled painfully and he realised that he was about to become ill, throwing himself from Mycroft’s bed he reached the toilet bowl just in time as his stomach ejected its contents forcefully. Sherlock whimpered as his throat burned and his eyes watered with the horrible sensation of vomiting. His fingers clenched the porcelain tightly as the wave of nausea retreated and he could finally allow himself to relax and fall to the cold tile floor.

Mycroft was standing in the doorway with a small hand towel and a large glass of ice water. His facial features looked stoic but his eyes showed pain and hurt at seeing his baby brother looking so ill, Sherlock had dark circles beneath his colourless eyes and his cheekbones were more prominent than ever due to the weight he had lost during his drug use. Mycroft crept closer and flushed the chain, holding the water and towel out to Sherlock who took it gratefully and wiped his sweaty face and took a small sip, relishing the feeling of the cold water travelling down his stinging throat.

“Thank you” Sherlock whispered, unable to meet Mycroft’s gaze.

“Not a problem baby brother” Mycroft soothed, pressing his hand into Sherlock’s curls and twirling them softly.

Sherlock felt the next wave ripple through him and handed Mycroft the glass back as another bout of retching sent him back over the toilet bowl. Mycroft grimaced but stroked Sherlock’s back through the ordeal, his fingers tracing words on Sherlock’s far too thin skin.

* * *

Sherlock was curled into a small ball on the sofa in the living room; his body shook painfully and he felt as though he was dying. He had never experienced withdrawal in such a way before, his whole body ached with pain that seemed to resonate from his bones outwards, his legs and spine hurt more than he had ever known possible, it was as though his whole body was made from glass and slowly, one by one, each bone was being shattered.

Despite having a shower after his morning nausea his body was soaked with sweat, dripping from his long hair over his face and down his neck and chest until it reached his pyjamas and soaked into the fabric. Sherlock felt every single drip of sweat move across his overheated skin, each trickle caused his hair to stand painfully on end and he desperately wanted more heroin, just a small amount, just to stop the cravings and withdrawal but he knew he couldn’t let Mycroft down.

As he lay there, shuddering in desperation he heard Mycroft’s doorbell chime causing him to grimace at the shrill sound penetrating his aching head. He listened carefully as Mycroft answered the door, Sherlock couldn’t hear the conversation as Mycroft and his guest whispered suspiciously in the foyer. Sherlock craned his head around to the living room door as a fully suited Mycroft welcomed his visitor into the room where he lay,

Sherlock immediately began deducing the man; _aged around 55, happily married, well respected doctor, good at his job, discreet, two small dogs, three grandchildren, enjoys golf._

Mycroft walked towards his brother and helped Sherlock to sit up straight against the arm of the sofa; using a clean towel Mycroft softly wiped away the beads of sweat from Sherlock’s face and chest and stroked Sherlock’s hair out of his eyes so that he could be formally introduced to the stranger.

“Sherlock, this is Dr Forest. He’s a good friend of mine and he has promised to help us” Mycroft smiled a genuine smile which lit up his features which was quickly reciprocated by the good doctor.

“P-Pleasure, I’m sure” Sherlock stammered, his body still racked with shudders.

Dr Forest bent to his knees and moved in front of Sherlock, watching the young man’s reactions. Opening his bag he pulled out a myriad of medicinal items and set about checking Sherlock’s vital signs,

“Blood pressure is slightly low but nothing to worry about. Temperature is high. Mr Holmes when did you last take a hit?” The kind doctor asked,

Sherlock closed his eyes and willed away the short burst of nausea before speaking “3pm yesterday afternoon”

The doctor checked his watch and nodded solemnly “Ah, first 24 hours of withdrawal are pretty dreadful I’m told. Any sickness?” Sherlock nodded in agreement,

“Loose bowels or lower abdominal spasms?” The doctor asked, making notes when Sherlock nodded again.

Mycroft shifted awkwardly; the British reserve coming into play at the discussion of bodily functions but he trampled down his discomfort and tried to remain stoic for his brother.

“I can prescribe Subutex or Methadone to reduce the withdrawal” Dr Forest insisted but Sherlock shook his head,

“I don’t want to take anything, I just want to get it out of my system and forget about it”

The doctor looked at Mycroft who nodded; Dr Forest scribbled some more notes before handing over the script to Sherlock with a small smile “I’ve included a small sedative and some anti-sickness medication. Please don’t hesitate to contact me if you need anything. Your brother has my details”

Sherlock stuttered a thank you before curling himself back onto the sofa and hugging his legs as the spasms continued.

Mycroft held out his arm to show the doctor back to the doorway and followed him through the grand entrance where they stood together;

“Will he be okay?” Mycroft asked nervously,

“He’ll be just fine. He may become… _difficult_ over the next few days and weeks. He will get restless and angry, he will also become increasingly manipulative if he decides he needs another hit of drugs” the doctor sighed “but I imagine you can find something to keep him occupied.”

Mycroft scoffed and rolled his eyes “You don’t know my brother” he smiled before opening the door and thanking the doctor with a genuine smile and handshake “Thank you for your discretion once again Dr Forest”

“Not a problem Mr Holmes. Contact me anytime you need me” the doctor smiled before pulling up his collar and walking towards the sleek black car waiting for him.

* * *

The first week of Sherlock’s stay at Mycroft’s was difficult. Mycroft had managed to arrange some time away from the office to work from home to ensure he was always around Sherlock incase he suddenly decided he needed to use again. Sherlock had ranted and raved, calling his brother names and insisting that Mycroft was a fascist who was keeping him locked away yet it was all bravado. The younger Holmes knew that without Mycroft’s watchful eye he would relapse into drug abuse so instead focussed on getting himself healthy.

Mycroft had started the process by arranging for his barber to clean Sherlock up, cutting off the matted shoulder length curls to a more manageable and better looking style just above his ears. The dark bobbing curls now shiny and bright thanks to the expensive conditioner massaged into his scalp; Sherlock cautiously admitted to himself that he was feeling slightly better about himself just from the slight change in hair. The barber also shaved him closely with a cut throat razor ensuring that he didn’t cut the soft skin of Sherlock’s face,

When Mycroft saw his brother now fully cleaned and respectable (despite him wearing only flannel pyjamas and a dressing gown) he was happy; contentment tugged at his heart as Sherlock wandered into the kitchen and raided the cupboards tearing into a croissant whilst buttering bread for a sandwich,

“Want one?” Sherlock asked his brother over his shoulder but Mycroft shook his head and continued to read from his files.

“What are you working on?” Sherlock asked as he flounced back into the room to sit on the floor beside Mycroft’s legs,

“Classified intelligence” Mycroft replied with a sigh, pressing the bridge of his nose tightly “There is going to be an attack somewhere in the UK but we can’t figure it out. We’ve tried _every_ method of convincing known terrorist members to talk but they refuse to co-operate”

Sherlock nodded, swallowed his sandwich and then gently took the files from Mycroft’s hands and began to read;

“Sherlock” Mycroft started “You know I have to warn you, this is classified information.”

Sherlock nodded and brushed his hand in the air in a dismissive gesture, reading through the information he attempted to decipher the clues but the message was too defuse, he couldn’t get a handle on the words running in front of his eyes and he dropped his head forward in defeat, sighing as Mycroft threaded his fingers into Sherlock’s dark curls and stroked,

“You’re doing so well” Mycroft soothed “You’ll be back to normal in no time”

Sherlock looked at Mycroft and blushed; he knew he would never be normal.

* * *

Growing up, Sherlock had always known that he was an accidental pregnancy. His parents loved and cherished him as any family would but they always seemed rather cold and distant; the children were left to their retinue of nannies and tutors on a daily basis with little contact with their busy parents. Mycroft had welcomed the privacy and space to pursue his own education but Sherlock needed more, he craved the attention from his parents and when they hadn’t worked, he had clung tightly to his brother. Mycroft had always seemed so grown up and wise to a much younger Sherlock and the boy had looked up at his brother in adoration.

Sherlock had never experienced happiness which compared to receiving praise from Mycroft. The first rush of chemicals injected directly into his bloodstream had come closest but still seemed dulled compared to the bright light which radiated in Mycroft’s face when Sherlock had answered a question correctly or deduced something which Mycroft had missed. Sherlock’s constant need for praise from his brother had become an obsession, a need.

When Sherlock was 10, Mycroft left for university and the younger Holmes had become sullen and miserable. He spent his time alone, wandering the gardens or orchards, wondering what Mycroft was doing all those miles away in London. His loneliness intensified whenever Mycroft returned for the holidays only to disappear once more leaving Sherlock shattered and alone; Sherlock couldn’t make friends, the children at school called him names and didn’t want to be friends with the boy who was so different, his long limbs making him gangly and clumsy whilst his personality immediately jarred with _regular_ children. Sherlock found it was easier to lock himself away in the library or focus his talents on experimenting with his only friend at the school; his science teacher.

The science teacher, Mr Matthews was a good man, a kind and honest man who gave Sherlock his attention and flattered him with compliments on his intellect and skills but however much Sherlock enjoyed the elders company; he couldn’t understand why he already had more knowledge than the man who was supposed to teach him. His mind whirred in confusion and by the age of fourteen he was a social outsider, limiting himself to only communicating with the other children when strictly necessary.

At age fifteen he discovered an old diary of his filed away in a secret spot in his wardrobe. Filled with childish scribbles and drawings of various experiments he had conducted with Mycroft the diary included perfectly labelled depictions of insects which were scattered over the pages and Sherlock ran his fingers over the happiness so obviously evident in his writings, he read through the book and stopped only when he reached a page which had been labelled ‘ _under no circumstances should anybody read this – William S Holmes’_

Sherlock bit his lip and began to read his childhood confession, his naïve self had written extensively about the chemical make-up of love and attraction, how chemicals can force the brain to believe in soul mates and perfect relationships. Teenage Sherlock scoffed at the pathetic reasoning in his writing but continued on as young Sherlock admitted that he often wondered if he would fall in love, get married and have babies. Young Sherlock had admitted that he didn’t like the idea of marrying a girl and he could only marry somebody of his intellectual equal and the only person he knew who rivalled his mind was Mycroft ( _although Mycroft was much smarter, the young Sherlock added)._

Sherlock’s heart beat furiously as he remembered his younger self writing the passage and he knew what followed on the next page; steeling himself he turned the page and closed his eyes in disgust as he looked over the childish drawing.

It showed the two boys together wearing grey suits and top hats. Their cartoon faces spread open in a wide white smile as they looked at one another in front of a priest; they stood facing one another and holding hands whilst the man in black with a dog collar held a bible along with two rings. Sherlock’s hair was shown with a nest of curly brown whereas Mycroft’s was auburn red, their eyes the same shades were looking at one another and Sherlock could clearly see a small droplet of blue representing tears falling from his drawings eyes.

Sherlock sighed and stared at the drawing; he remembered believing that he and Mycroft could one day get married. They could live together in a cottage and Mycroft could go to work in the government whilst Sherlock became a famous scientist or documentary maker. They would have tea and biscuits on a morning and cuddle under the trees and watch the bees coming and going from the hives they kept. They would be happy together.

Sherlock slammed closed the diary and threw it across the room in despair; falling onto his bed he sobbed for the first time in a long time.

* * *

 

Sitting at Mycroft’s feet with his brothers hands threading in his hair was too much for Sherlock who suddenly remembered his diary entry. His chest swelled painfully and he realised that he was blushing and not saying anything in reply to Mycroft; Sherlock stammered slightly and handed the papers back to his brother before standing up and nervously leaving the room for the spare room where his clothing and few meagre belongings were stored. He was supposed to sleep in this room but had found that he simply preferred to stay with Mycroft, counting the older man’s breaths until he fell asleep, safe and content.

Sherlock rummaged through his bag and pulled out the diary, tracing his fingers over the childish scrawl on the front he relaxed slightly and put it back into the bottom of the bag, piling clothing on top to hide it from his brother. Sherlock knew Mycroft had searched his belongings for drugs when he first arrived but he didn’t think that Mycroft would have looked through the book so felt himself relax back onto his bed, lying down flat and retreating into his mind palace.


	2. Dance of the Swans,

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is where it starts getting a bit hot and heavy. No actual incest but there is some accidental voyeurism and masturbation in the shower. 
> 
> I'm still really nervous about my writing so please let me know if you think anything sounds wrong or needs redoing. 
> 
> *also, i mention expensive wine and classical music. I know NOTHING about wine and not much about Classical so please don't judge me too harshly*

Mycroft awoke to an empty bed; the morning November sunshine was bright through the curtains and warmed up the wall of the room, filling the bedroom with an almost summertime brightness. Mycroft squinted at the empty spot which should have been filled by his slumbering brother, despite Mycroft arranging for him to stay in the spare room, Sherlock preferred spending his nights curled up in his brothers bed, hugging Mycroft close and wrapping his legs around his strong steady calves. The older man didn’t mind, he had enjoyed Sherlock’s company and had found Sherlock’s deductive skills useful for his work when he was missing the vital component. Sherlock had enjoyed the puzzle solving and had begun to seek out things to do outside of the townhouse, always careful to avoid temptation he had lingered in museums and libraries, enhancing his knowledge of subjects he was unclear on. It made Mycroft happy to see Sherlock back on track,

Mycroft stretched lazily and felt the satisfying pop of his joints, his ears pricked up immediately when he heard a soft sob coming from the bathroom; immediately fearing the worst he pulled himself to his feet and threw on his dressing gown. Sherlock hadn’t been sick for a while thanks to Dr Forest’s anti-sickness medication and the withdrawal quickly abating but Mycroft wanted to ensure his brother was okay. Slipping his feet into his slippers he padded to the bathroom and opened the door,

Sherlock was hunched over the sink, one hand resting on the wall at the side of the mirror whilst his other wrapped itself around the very hard, very red and very, very leaking cock which peeked from the gap in Sherlock’s tight fist. As the brothers eyes met in the reflection of the mirror, Mycroft whispered “Sh-Sherlock.” Sherlock closed his tightly and gasped, his bare buttocks clenching and his spine stiffening as he reached his peak and keened loudly with a cry of “Mycroft”

Ribbons of white cum splashed into the sink basin as Sherlock held himself tightly, stroking himself absently through his climax and ensuring that he was fully sated before his legs slightly buckled and he had to grip the edge of the sink,

Mycroft whispered “Oh” visibly shaken from the voyeuristic show “I’m sorry. I’ll erm… make tea” Mycroft closed the door quietly and leaned his head against the cool wood, breathing heavily and shakily as he willed his legs to move towards the kitchen. Grabbing the kettle he quickly filled it and put it on to boil whilst gazing out of the window over the delightfully sunny London Park beside his house.

The sound of the shower running echoed around the house as Mycroft began preparing tea; spooning in the sugar for Sherlock and adding a dash of milk noticing that his hands were still shaking and his erection was becoming a hindrance. Mycroft blanched at his body’s reaction to his baby brother relieving himself and he quickly rearranged his parts until they were less obvious, the momentary brush of his fingers against the hardness made his head spin and a gasp escape his lips but he shooed the thought away, focussing on stirring the tea in a very British manner. 

* * *

 

Sherlock stood under the powerful spray of the shower. His hair was soaked and clinging to his face, causing rivers of water to cascade down his chest and stomach; he felt disgusting. His body had always been transport for his brain and intellect, he often wished he could ignore the stupid bodily urges such as eating, sleeping and other bodily functions but try as he might, the urges got stronger the more he ignored them.

The younger Holmes had awoken with his chest pressed to Mycroft’s back, his nose buried in Mycroft’s auburn hair smelling so rich and erotic that Sherlock had found himself breathing in deeply, his cock reacting to the close proximity of another warm body, his cock twitched as it pressed into the warm cleft of his brothers arse and Sherlock ground himself against the slightly plump flesh of Mycroft’s arse.

The temptation had become too much, Sherlock had to climb from his comfortable position to deal with his morning erection, walking into the ensuite bathroom he had quickly pulled down his pyjama bottoms to the floor and stroked his cock, spitting on his hand and rubbing the now slick palm over the sensitive glans. Sherlock had always hated how much fluid leaked from him when he was this aroused but it came in useful for quick and harsh strokes, using his hips Sherlock thrust into his palm, getting closer to his release as he imagined Mycroft’s sleeping face; soft features slackened by sleep, his lips parted gently as he breathed, his hair mussed and messy from Sherlock’s caresses during the night.

Sherlock groaned deeply, biting his lip in an attempt to stifle the noise. The wet slapping noise of skin on skin seemed deafening in the small room but Sherlock was almost certain that the noise wouldn’t carry into the bedroom; it wouldn’t be loud enough to wake Mycroft from his dreams. His hips continued to thrust harshly, he lifted his arm to rest beside the mirror and looked at his reflection; his eyes were almost black with just a glimmer of colour around the massive pupils, sweat poured from his hair and made him look wild and carefree with his pleasure. His cheeks glowed pink and the flush continued down his throat, Sherlock blinked at himself and realised he actually looked _healthy._

His orgasm was approaching quickly; months of self enforced celibacy becoming desperate need as the tension coiled in his lower stomach, sending tendrils of pleasure up his spine to his brain. He sobbed loudly, uncaring at the volume he was now producing, the need to climax was all encompassing as he fucked his fist roughly, imagining it was Mycroft ( _Mycroft moaning, his eyes glazed as he looked down and said Sherlock’s name again and again as Sherlock brought him to his own climax)._ Sherlock felt the familiar tightening of his balls and he gasped again, turning quickly as a gust of cold air hit his bare arse and Mycroft stood in the door, wide eyed and shocked at seeing Sherlock so wanton. It was too much for Sherlock who heard Mycroft say his name with a broken gasp, he bucked a final time and released with a cry of his brother’s name, his legs almost buckling with the unbelievable sensations rushing through him. He vaguely heard Mycroft stutter something before the door was closed and Sherlock was left alone, sweaty and hot, his cock slowly softening against the cool porcelain of the sink basin.

The immediate gratifying pleasure had disappeared leaving Sherlock with nothing but embarrassment and mortified shame. He and his brother had never discussed sex _(Mycroft had told Sherlock about reproduction and the human anatomy but they had never discussed personal matters on the subject)_ , never talked about girls or boys they fancied or experiences they had. Sherlock groaned in shame as he washed his hair and his body clean, wrapping a towel around himself and stepping out into the bedroom to collect clean pyjamas,

Mycroft was sitting in his leather chair watching the morning news; he sipped at his drink and gestured to Sherlock that his was on the Kitchen counter. Sherlock collected his cup and padded into the living room, sitting down anxiously on the sofa,

“I erm… I’m sorry” Sherlock stammered, blushing furiously and staring into his teacup as though it held the answer to the embarrassing situation he found himself in.

“Don’t be. It was my fault for bursting in. I apologise if I… interrupted.” Mycroft added with a tense smile,

“Well, as you saw, you didn’t interrupt” Sherlock laughed, a soft crinkle appearing in his forehead as he smiled “I’m very embarrassed though.”

Mycroft frowned and turned to his brother, gazing over at his younger sibling Mycroft smiled “You have nothing to be embarrassed about. Perfectly natural thing for men to do”

“Do you? Do that…” Sherlock trailed off, watching Mycroft’s shoulders tense whilst a strange atmosphere pervaded the air.

Both men dropped the conversation, moving on to more normal topics such as what Sherlock intended to do that day,

“I was thinking of going to St Bart’s. I have an old friend who works there in the path lab and I hoped she would let me hang around and examine some old files” Sherlock said taking a sip of his drink, grimacing as he scolded his tongue on the hot water.

“That sounds like an excellent idea” Mycroft nodded, his voice and posture back to normal. “I need to go to the office for a few hours. I have a meeting with some very dull heads of state”

Sherlock chuckled and nodded “Will you be home for dinner? I can cook something”

Mycroft blinked, caught by surprise his mouth gaped slightly before he pulled himself together and nodded “That would be lovely thank you; whatever you prefer is fine for me” 

* * *

 

Sherlock wrapped himself up warm and climbed into the waiting black car; asking the driver to drop him at Bart’s he relaxed into the comfortable seats and looked out of the windows at a dreary grey London. People passed by one another without making eye contact, pushing and jostling one another as they commuted. Tourists clogged Tower Bridge with their expensive cameras and tacky souvenir t-shirts, annoying businessmen by asking them to take pictures for them. Sherlock smiled at the scene and opened the window to smell the air around him.

He was beginning to fall in love with London. The beating heart of the country where so much happened each second, political scandal mixed with everyday life made Sherlock feel alive, like he wanted to run through the streets and help people but he realised he was too new. He didn’t know the capital as well as would be needed and would have to start small,

Sherlock thanked the driver when he reached Bart’s and told the driver that he was free for the day, he would get a taxi back to Mycroft’s as he didn’t know how long he would be. The driver thanked Sherlock before starting the car and driving away along the confusing terrain of London’s one way streets. Sherlock smoothed out his coat and walked into the old building to meet Molly.

* * *

Mycroft sat at his desk inside the non-descript civil service building. He flicked through his emails checking for any major issues which required his attention and finding none he relaxed into reading through correspondence from his spies in other governmental departments; _embezzlement in the treasury, fraud in work and pensions, sexual harassment in immigration_ Mycroft rolled his eyes and scrolled down the page, sending the information to another member of staff to deal with. His eyes focussed on an email from Dr Forest’s address including an attachment, Mycroft opened it quickly and scanned the page,

_All test results negative. All STI’s clear, no HIV, Hepatitis (A, B or C), Liver function normal, kidneys normal, urine analysis slightly elevated but within normal parameters, ECG good, Lungs clear._

Mycroft exhaled a breath he hadn’t known he was holding; Sherlock was healthy despite his carelessness during his addiction. He quickly fired back a thank you reply to the doctor and arranged a lucrative payment to be sent directly to Dr Forest for his kind and discreet bedside manner. Anthea entered the doorway with a smile, tapping her watch and rolling her eyes towards her boss who gave her a friendly smile in return; grabbing his suit jacket and umbrella he followed her lead towards the secret meeting with the heads of state.

The meeting itself was tedious; the brash characters of each head of state clashing furiously as they attempted to unravel the details behind the upcoming terrorist plot. Mycroft acted as negotiator, his calm demeanour demanding attention in the large meeting room; eventually the meeting was adjourned for a break allowing Mycroft to quickly send Sherlock a text,

**Having fun with the corpse’s brother dear? – MH**

**Currently looking at bruising patterns on soles of feet when hit with a cane. Very interesting – SH**

**Fascinating, I’m sure – MH**

**Don’t you have a country to run? – SH**

**I’m on a coffee break. It will survive for another few minutes – MH**

Sherlock chuckled at Mycroft’s reply before putting his phone back into his pocket and picking up the cane again,

“Now, where was I?” He asked a clearly grimacing Molly Hooper.

* * *

Sherlock decided to walk back to the townhouse; memorising the street names on his way he found he could visualise a small section of the map in his mind and follow it to a few certain places he was sure of such as the Hospital, the barbers and a small tailor located in an upmarket part of town.

He stopped when he noticed a young woman sitting at the side of the road, wrapped in multiple layers she was shivering with cold as she held out a cup for passers-by to drop in change. Sherlock watched for a few moments as she was coldly ignored by suited business men and women who looked disdainfully down their noses at the girl. Sherlock turned on his heel and entered a coffee shop, ordering a tea and a coffee he pocketed sugar and milk before paying and leaving the building, crossing the road and stopping in front of the young lady,

“Hi” He smiled

“H-Hello” The girl replied nervously, looking up at the stranger and then back down to her shabby clothes,

“I bought you a tea… or a coffee… I wasn’t sure which you preferred” Sherlock shrugged handing both cups over to the girl who smiled as she took the offered cup,

“Coffee, please. If you don’t mind”

Sherlock shook his head and pulled out the sugar and milks watching the young girl squint with suspicion as she looked over Sherlock quizzically.

“What’s your name?” he asked kindly, pouring sugar into his tea followed by milk.

“Sandy” The girl smiled “yours?”

“Sherlock Holmes” he replied allowing his eyes to quickly scan over the girl and begin deducing _Mid-twenties, sleeps outdoors, no family, no children, not originally from London,_

Sandy took a deep gulp of her coffee and sighed happily as the hot liquid burned down her throat and warmed her stomach. Her fingerless gloves clutched the foam cup tightly as she smiled at Sherlock warmly “Thank you”

“Not a problem” Sherlock smiled “I need to go but here” he handed her a twenty pound note which he had been given by Mycroft for taxi fare “Get yourself something to eat”

Sandy blinked at the money and then at Sherlock before lowering her head, tears danced in her pretty eyes as she folded the money into her hand “Thank you, Thank you so much Mr Holmes”

“Sherlock, please” he smile and nodded, standing to his full height, straightening his jacket and walking off into the throng of people back over the bridge to his home.

* * *

Mycroft rubbed his neck as he entered his home; his day had been hectic filled with dull meetings with duller people. The Korean elections were upcoming and the tension was straining the intelligence officers who were deep undercover, Mycroft had been forced to reassure the officers that it was all under control despite knowing that the outcome was undecided and risky. He also had the French to deal with, their prickly demeanours and fiery tempers causing a major headache for Mycroft. He was glad to be home.

The smell of cooking wafted tantalisingly through the house causing Mycroft’s stomach to rumble its annoyance at being left unfed for so long. Mycroft placed his umbrella and coat on the coat stand before walking through to the kitchen where Sherlock stood.

Mycroft hid a smile as he watched Sherlock unobserved;

Sherlock was standing tall with his back to his brother, Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake _Dances of the swans_ played loudly echoing around the large kitchen and Sherlock stood with a carrot in his hand using it as a Conductors baton on an unseen orchestra, jaunty hand movements telling the musicians when to build their tempo, their volume. Sherlock looked so handsome standing in the low light of the kitchen, his crisp white shirt rolled up around his elbows and his curls bobbing wildly as he gestured. Mycroft desperately wanted to mock his brother, to embarrass and jibe him for his silliness but he was too entranced by the fluid movements of Sherlock’s arms, the way his spine arched as he bent forward or moved to the left and right of the imaginary orchestra.

Mycroft silently tiptoed out of the room, moving back to the front door and slamming it closed, shouting his greetings to Sherlock who immediately turned down the music and met Mycroft in the kitchen doorway with a smile,

“I’m making steak” Sherlock said, his cheeks slightly flushed and his eyes sparkling “Shouldn’t be long”

“I’ll go for a shower.” Mycroft replied walking to his bathroom and starting the shower.

* * *

Sherlock eagerly set the table in the dining room; the huge table looked like it belonged in a Tudor banquet hall but Sherlock set two places close to one another. The expensive silverware shining in the light of the candles which sat in the ornate candelabra in the middle of the table, Sherlock moved a stray curl from his forehead and checked over his place settings before returning to the kitchen to plate up their now steaming food.

Mycroft stood under the hot spray of the shower; his hand wrapped around his engorged member as he tugged frantically, he tried to imagine previous lovers, strangers, even celebrities but his mind kept coming back to the vision of Sherlock’s clothed back and arse, moving in time to Tchaikovsky. His eyes closed and he groaned deeply as the memory of Sherlock’s own morning masturbation session came to mind, his flushed pink face, the erotic slip and slide of Sherlock’s cock in his fist and the way his brother had orgasmed with Mycroft’s name of his perfect bow lips was too much and soon Mycroft was spilling himself over his hand and the white tiles of the shower. A soft gasp escaped his lips as he fell forward and focussed on breathing as the aftershocks of his orgasm rushed through every nerve in his body.

The shame and guilt soon washed over Mycroft; hotter than the shower water he quickly cleaned himself and climbed out. Drying himself and dressing in a simple shirt and tailored trousers he walked back downstairs to the dining room where Sherlock was carrying steaming plates of food to rest on the table,

“I cooked it medium rare – I’m almost certain that’s how you used to like it before” Sherlock blushed before putting the plate in front of Mycroft with a sofa thud,

“It’s perfect. Thank you” Mycroft smiled, looking over the dish. It looked delicious and smelt divine causing Mycroft’s mouth to water and a soft groan to escape his lip unbidden.

Sherlock blushed but sat and began eating; talking between small bites the two brothers enjoyed one another’s company as classical music played in the background. Sherlock reached forward and grabbed for the 2004 Cabernet Sauvignon red wine he had picked especially for the meal, pouring the dark liquid into his glass he savoured the smell and the first taste as the rich flavour tickled his taste buds and made him groan out loud, allowing his head to fall back to bare his long, pale neck.

“This is beautiful” Sherlock groaned taking another sip “delightful.”

Mycroft averted his gaze from the pure sensuality on his brother’s face and continued cutting up his steak with slightly trembling hands. He allowed Sherlock to pour his wine before asking for some of his own which Sherlock carefully poured with a smile,

“Myc?” Sherlock started his voice low and nervous “May I ask for a favour?”

Mycroft swallowed hard, his heart fluttering in his chest at the strangeness of the request “Ask away” he replied, taking another bite of his food.

“I’m bored. Dreadfully so and I’m worried that I may relapse if I don’t have something to fill the time. Molly allowed me to visit today but she can’t have me staying under her feet as she tries to work so I need something more.” Sherlock paused, taking a deep breath “Do you have any contacts in the police who would let me look over cold cases? Anything at all, just something to keep me busy?”

Mycroft lowered his knife and fork, steepling his fingers against his lips as he thought; Sherlock’s boredom threshold was much lower than average people who would be happy to dull their minds with TV but Sherlock needed something more. The older Holmes remembered an old acquaintance at Scotland Yard who had become embroiled in a small scandal when one of his staff had stolen evidence in a bid to untangle himself from a blackmail plot. Mycroft had dealt with the matter swiftly and without much fuss leaving the Detective to continue his career elevation; _last time they spoke he had been promoted to detective inspector._

“I have a contact at Scotland Yard. I will speak to him tomorrow,” Mycroft said softly “but Sherlock, you must behave correctly so not to bring any disrepute on our name or my reputation.”

Sherlock nodded quickly and broke into a large genuine smile; finishing his meal he took Mycroft’s hand in his and squeezed gently before taking the empty plates and glasses back into the kitchen.

* * *

The brothers sat quietly in the living room; a howling wind had picked up during the evening and the frigid chill had returned to the air forcing Mycroft to build a fire in the hearth. Sherlock sat silently, flicking through the pages of a French novel he had picked up from the library; the turning of the page, the roar of the fire and the howl of the wind being the only noises in the darkened room.

Mycroft poured brandy into two tumblers and handed one of Sherlock who took it with a smile and sipped, feeling the warmth spread through his body as he continued to read. The comfortable silence was enjoyable for both men who favoured solitude in most things, Mycroft shifted unconsciously drawing Sherlock’s gaze towards him,

“Myc?” Sherlock asked softly,

“Hmm?” Mycroft replied looking over and lighting a cigarette between his lips,

“Have you ever been in love?”

Mycroft choked out a breath and began to cough and splutter as the smoke curled down the wrong way into his chest. His eyes watered and he placed the cigarette onto the glass ashtray by his side, taking gulps of air until the urge to panic disappeared.

“The hell did that come from?” Mycroft laughed dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief,

Sherlock blushed and looked away before motioning to the book, “seems to be a running theme in most literature”

“Most literature is aimed at sentimental and emotional people who want to believe that life and love is decided by fate.” Mycroft scoffed, looking over at Sherlock who seemed upset at the answer “You don’t believe in true love do you Sherlock? Disney princesses? Gilded carriages, love at first sight and happy ever afters?”

“Don’t be twee Mycroft.” Sherlock huffed “It was just a question. Besides, you’re the one who works for actual queens and princesses who live in castles and palaces.”

Mycroft took another drag of his cigarette and breathed out luxuriously “There is no such thing as fate. Life is what you make it brother dear.”

Sherlock bristled and finished his brandy with a long gulp before putting down the book and standing up “I’m going to bed. Goodnight”

“Goodnight Sherlock.” Mycroft replied, puzzled at his brothers reaction.

* * *

Sherlock lay on the spare bed, his fingers tracing over the childish scribbling’s of his diary as he read through the passages dedicated to his brother. Sherlock had realised in his early teens that he was attracted to other boys, the long lean muscles of his fellow students had caused his stomach to flutter and whenever he was forced to play sports he often avoided showering with the other boys incase he showed his arousal and outed himself to his peers.

The threat of violence wasn’t the only reason to keep quiet about his newly discovered sexuality; 1980’s Britain was becoming more tolerant towards those young men with his orientation however the emergence of HIV and AIDS had prompted threatening and terrifying advert campaigns to litter the TV channels and billboards of Britain forcing Sherlock to realise that sex was dangerous and risky. He quickly decided that the messy business of sex wasn’t for him and contented himself with slow, teasing hand jobs in the shower or lying in bed. Learning about his own pleasure was as far as he ever experimented sexually.

Sherlock startled as he heard Mycroft close the bathroom door; obviously starting his night time routine before bed. Sherlock hid his diary away and changed into his pyjamas before walking to Mycroft’s large bed, climbing into his designated side he pulled the covers over himself and spread out his legs, warming the bottom of the bed for Mycroft’s feet when he arrived. The younger Holmes listened to Mycroft gargling with mouthwash before spitting and turning off the lights and padding into the bedroom. Sherlock pulled back his legs and the covers allowing Mycroft to climb into the warm bedding with a soft sigh,

“Myc? Take your shirt off?” Sherlock heard himself ask nervously, Mycroft looked over his shoulder quizzically but began to unbutton the flannel shirt slowly

“If you mention my weight or my stomach, I will kill you.” Mycroft threatened with a smirk

“You look good” Sherlock admitted before closing his eyes and biting his lip in embarrassment.

Mycroft allowed his shirt to fall from his arms and pool onto the floor clumsily as he moved back into bed, sweeping his legs under the duvet he found the warm spot and smiled. He laid flat on his back, the expensive feather pillows cupping his neck perfectly as he settled himself down, Sherlock shifted his own position until his own topless torso was cuddled against Mycroft’s side, his head resting over Mycroft’s chest listening to the steady _thrumthrumthrum_ of his brothers heartbeat.

The pair relaxed against one another, Sherlock ran his fingers through the soft curls of Mycroft’s chest hair, auburn fuzz tickled his nose but he loved the sensation of being so close to his beloved brother. Mycroft wrapped his arm around Sherlock’s shoulders and pulled him closer, pressing a soft and tender kiss on the crown of Sherlock’s head.

He was gently dozing off to sleep when he felt Sherlock’s fingers move against his skin; a barely there touch which seemed almost like a feathers touch than a long, violin callused digit. Mycroft steadied his breathing and focused on the movements of the letters being spelt onto his skin,

**_T-H-A-N-K / Y-O-U_ **

Mycroft smiled and pressed another kiss onto Sherlock’s hair, his finger trailing to Sherlock’s shoulder blades to reply to the message on skin,

**_Y-O-U-R-E / W-E-L-C-O-M-E_ **

Sherlock sniffed slightly against Mycroft’s chest, smelling the perfect aroma of Mycroft’s body; a combination of spice, minty toothpaste from his lips and his own body. Sherlock locked the smell away in the vault marked ‘Mycroft’ in his mind palace,

Mycroft focused again as Sherlock continued spelling;

**_I-M / G-A-Y /_ **

Mycroft stroked his hand down Sherlock’s spine softly, lingering on each vertebra still clearly showing on Sherlock’s too thin body before moving back to his writing space,

**_I / K-N-O-W_ **

Sherlock stiffened and sobbed softly as he realised that Mycroft knew and wouldn’t turn him away. Mycroft tightened his grip around Sherlock and soothed him with quiet ‘shhhh’ noises, Mycroft knew the next question immediately before Sherlock had even had time to think so simply spelt out,

**_M-E / T-O-O_ **

The brothers fell asleep soon after spelling out simultaneous _I love you_ messages.


	3. Home in your arms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing about police work and deductions. I'm blagging my way through really, any mistakes are my own.
> 
> Also, i'm not sure why i wrote the thing about feminine products. I think it would be very sweet that he'd offer to buy these things for his network. 
> 
> Warnings for the beginning of Sibling Incest (not until the very end of the chapter) So please don't read if you don't like it.

The phone rang twice before the chirpy voice answered with a “Scotland Yard”

“Detective Inspector Lestrade please.” Mycroft said firmly, his fingers twirling his pen idly as he heard the female voice put him on hold before the familiar click of him being transferred.

“Lestrade” a gruff voice answered,

“Ah, Detective Inspector” Mycroft smiled “Mycroft Holmes.”

“Mr Holmes, what can I do for you?” Lestrade asked nervously,

“I have a strange request” Mycroft started “My brother is currently undergoing some personal difficulties and would like to offer his services to you on a consulting basis. He need not be paid or go out on actual cases but I wondered if you may have a selection of unsolved cold cases he could look through?”

Lestrade cleared his throat, his thoughts loud enough for Mycroft to hear over the phone line, “by personal difficulties I assume you don’t mean criminal?”

Mycroft huffed out a slight laugh before speaking “No Detective Inspector. I can assure you that he has been thoroughly checked through by my own competent staff and poses no risk to you, your staff or the service you provide. It would merely be a kindness to me and my brother”

Lestrade sighed and agreed, the stack of unsolved cold cases was slowly growing in number due to the population boom and lack of resources. A helping hand would be a positive.

“Would you like me to send them to your office or would your brother prefer coming to the station?”

“Sherlock will arrive shortly, please let me know of any issues you may have with my brother” Mycroft smiled “Thank you Detective Inspector Lestrade and good day”

“Yeah bye Mr Holmes” Lestrade replied before hanging up.

* * *

Sherlock checked his reflection once more; the perfectly tailored suits from Mycroft’s tailor had arrived and each sumptuous garment seemed to fit him like a glove. He smoothed down the creases in the wine coloured shirt which snugly fit against his chest and ensured that the scars of his track marks weren’t visible before pulling on his suit jacket and wrapping a scarf around his throat for good measure.

Opening the protective coat bag Sherlock smiled as he ran his hands over the thick and expensive material of his new coat; a long and beautiful Belstaff which was expensive even for his tastes but Mycroft had insisted on buying it for him. Sherlock shrugged the coat around his shoulders and began fastening the buttons looking at his reflection,

“Delightful, Brother Mine” Mycroft smiled as he saw Sherlock standing proudly “You look very handsome”

Sherlock fought against his urge to blush and nodded, turning and striding down to the front door and picking up his phone and wallet from the cabinet.

* * *

Sherlock walked to Scotland Yard; familiarising himself with his new home he breathed in the slight chemical scent of London, the busy footfall around him made him feel at ease as he walked towards his destination. He looked over and recognised Sandy the homeless girl sitting forlorn and tearful behind a low wall, her knees pulled up to her chest.

“Sandy” Sherlock greeted kindly with a smile “Are you okay?”

Sandy started and blinked twice before nodding “Sh-Sherlock Holmes”

“You’re hungry.” Sherlock said without judgement “come with me”

The pair sat in a small greasy spoon café away from the main road; the patrons were mostly labourers or white van drivers eating bacon sandwiches and reading dreadful tabloid newspapers as they supped strong, sweet tea. Nobody looked up as Sherlock and Sandy sat in a booth furthest away from the crowd.

“Order whatever you like. My brother is paying” Sherlock smiled as the waitress came over with a pad of paper.

Sherlock ordered tea for himself along with a simple sausage sandwich whilst Sandy ordered coffee and a full English breakfast looking embarrassed as she spoke, glancing at Sherlock who didn’t react simply looking over the other customers looking for any interesting deductions to be found.

“This is the second time you’ve helped me. Why?” Sandy asked quietly, her fingers fidgeting with the salt shaker,

Sherlock frowned and looked at Sandy’s soft features; her face was red from exposure to the late November weather but she still looked young and vulnerable.

“I know what it’s like to feel alone.” Sherlock admitted before inwardly cursing himself for being so ridiculous

Sandy ran her eyes up and down Sherlock’s face and appearance “Something tells me you’ve never been on the streets though”

Sherlock shook his head; it would be foolish to try to lie.

The pair sat silently for a moment; enjoying the warmth and smells of the café around them as they waited for their food,

“W-What” Sandy started before closing her mouth and staring at the salt shaker “what do you want from me?”

“Want?” Sherlock asked confused, his brow furrowing in bewilderment.

“Men don’t just give you twenty pounds and a cup of coffee from the good of their hearts” Sandy said sadly, refusing to make eye contact “they certainly don’t take you out for food and allow you to order whatever you want without some sort of… payback”

Sherlock steepled his fingers beneath his chin and looked over at his companion who looked so broken and exhausted.

“You’re right. Most men don’t do those things but I am nothing like most men” Sherlock admitted.

The waitress returned with their food and set it out in front of them, sneering slightly at the young homeless woman who immediately began to tuck into her food without manners. Ripping off large chunks of bread Sandy stuffed them inelegantly into her mouth and chewed unaware of the look of distaste on the waitresses face.

Sherlock bristled and looked over the waitress “How is your husband? Does he know you’re cheating on him with not one but… oh… three other men? Including your boss. Delightful. He will do when you tell him you’re pregnant and have to explain why the new born is of African colouring.”

The waitress gaped at Sherlock, stammering noises which almost seemed like words before closing her mouth and storming away from the table angrily. Sandy looked up and then back to Sherlock with an astounded expression “How did you know that?”

“I didn’t know. I saw. It was obvious from the way she tied her apron string and the way she flicked her fingers as she took our orders earlier.” Sherlock explained bemused

“Amazing” Sandy giggled

* * *

Sherlock ripped small pieces of his sandwich and chewed, he wasn’t hungry but he knew that Sandy wouldn’t have ordered food unless he did and she desperately needed the sustenance. Sandy had eaten the entire cooked breakfast she had ordered and was sipping lazily at her coffee looking quizzically at Sherlock,

“So, Mr Holmes. Tell me, how can I repay your generosity?”

“Information.” Sherlock shrugged simply “I can’t explain my reasons but I hope to create a network of sorts. I want to know everything that happens in London which other people won’t know and will have no idea of how to find. I want to know the dark secrets of London’s underground straight from the horse’s mouth.”

Sandy nodded in understanding, her eyes lighting up slightly “You want informants from the ignored people who can observe everything without being seen.”

Sherlock was startled by Sandy’s perceptiveness “Exactly”

“I can do that” Sandy smiled “I can also ensure a few of my other friends listen out and let me know of anything interesting.”

“Thank you” Sherlock said ‘Do you need anything more before I leave? I have a prior appointment I must attend’

Sandy blushed and looked down at the table “I could… I mean I need”

“Tell me” Sherlock coaxed softly,

“Feminine products’”Sandy whispered with a new flushed crimson face “I have nothing”

Sherlock nodded and pulled out his wallet; taking out a ten pound note he handed it to her and smiled “Don’t be embarrassed to ask for anything.”

* * *

“You must be Sherlock” Lestrade said as he took the younger man’s hand in his for a strong handshake “DI Greg Lestrade. Follow me.”

Sherlock had immediately got to work in a free office away from the busy floor of Scotland Yard. He took off his jacket and unwound his scarf leaving them draped from a chair as he spread out the files on the floor and began reading through the information,

Four hours later he had closed 6 murders, a burglary and a kidnapping ( _which wasn’t technically a kidnapping, instead it was a scheme for the kidnapped party to disappear from his abusive wife)_

Lestrade re-entered the office and was impressed with Sherlock’s detective abilities; becoming less impressed as Sherlock turned quickly and asked “Who is P. Anderson?”

“Anderson? Crime scene analyst” Lestrade answered,

“He’s an idiot.” Sherlock spat “He missed at least six vital clues in the Smithson murder.”

Lestrade bristled “He’s not an idiot. He’s a competent and well educated forensic scientist”

Sherlock scoffed and rolled his eyes “I’ve already discovered a list of flaws in his collection techniques. I made a list, would you like to see it?”

Anderson, upon hearing his name entered the room and glared at the stranger who was now pacing back and forth in the office “Who are you?”

“Sherlock Holmes” Sherlock offered his hand to the stranger only to have it ignored, he pulled it back with a glare.

“Well, Mr Holmes. I’m not sure why you’re here but I don’t appreciate being called incompetent.” Anderson said angrily

“For the record; I didn’t say you were incompetent” Sherlock replied watching as Anderson relaxed slightly “I said you were an idiot”

Lestrade managed to get between the stranger and Anderson before it became overly heated. Shouting Donovan to remove Anderson and take him for a coffee he turned back to Sherlock,

“You can’t just insult members of staff” Lestrade warned

“Why not? He’s not doing his job correctly and it’s affecting the lives of others. Also, are you aware that those two are sleeping together behind his wife’s back? He keeps promising that he will leave her for your Donovan but he won’t. He’ll never leave his wife as he doesn’t want to lose access to the health spa in which she works”

Lestrade blinked and looked at the door before looking back at Sherlock “How do you know that?”

“I don’t know, I see” Sherlock explained for the second time that day “I see things which most people can’t or don’t understand. Body language, facial features, unknown patterns of behaviour.”

Lestrade folded his arms and stared at Sherlock for a long moment “Go on then, tell me what you see about me.”

Sherlock inhaled shakily and narrowed his eyes “Are you sure?”

Lestrade nodded and moved himself to half rest against the wooden desk, his eyebrow lifted in a challenge;

“Very well” Sherlock smiled and began to deduce the detective,

_Working class, limited education, not university educated instead worked hard to reach his job title, unhappily married to an adulterer, two children, small dog, smokes too much and sleeps too little, genuinely cares about his job._

Sherlock reeled off the information without taking another breath before stopping and looking over at the bemused detective “Did I get everything right?”

“I’m not unhappily married and my wife isn’t an adulterer”

“She really is and you know she is.” Sherlock countered

Lestrade ran his hands over his face and sighed “I appreciate your help Mr Holmes.”

* * *

Mycroft was sitting at his desk when he heard the door slam and Sherlock muttered curses echoing through the rooms leading to his office,

“Can you believe the arrogance of those people?!” Sherlock ranted “I solved six murders today SIX and they simply thanked me and then asked me to leave.”

“What did you want them to do Sherlock? Make you an honorary police officer? Give you an award and a shiny police hat?”

Sherlock mumbled something under his breath before turning on his heels and stalking out of the room in a sulk.

* * *

The following weeks followed a familiar pattern; Mycroft would work whilst Sherlock consulted with Lestrade regarding cases, helping on cold cases and looking over evidence in newer open investigations to ensure nothing had been missed. Lestrade had begun to receive praise from his superiors at his sudden closure rates; Lestrade kept Sherlock’s involvement a secret to his bosses hoping that they wouldn’t investigate too far into the young consultant.

Lestrade had noticed the faint track marks running down Sherlock’s arms and neck beneath the fitted shirts. Sherlock rolled his sleeves back down to the wrists and looked sheepish before turning his back and continuing his work.

The two brothers would return to the townhouse exhausted from their day but always willing to share a meal and a brandy before bed; talking and deducing until lethargy wearied their bones and they moved themselves to the bedroom. Cuddled up together they would gently trace words onto one another’s skin before falling asleep,

Until one night everything changed,

Sherlock had climbed into bed as normal; curling into Mycroft’s side and burying his head into the warm crease between Mycroft’s neck and jawline. His puffed breaths causing Mycroft’s hairs to stand up on the back of his neck and goose bumps to flush over the pale skin,

Feeling emboldened by their closeness, Sherlock began pressing tiny chaste kisses against the slightly stubbled flesh, tasting Mycroft on his lips for the first time _spice, fabric softener, a hint of cologne… home._ Mycroft inhaled shakily and tightened his fist into the bedding whilst stilling the other hand which was wrapped around Sherlock’s shoulders. Sherlock continued kissing up to the lobe of his brother’s ear taking it into his mouth and sucking softly as his hand moved to caress the auburn curls which covered Mycroft’s chest.

Moving his lips slowly, Sherlock began to close the space between the brother’s lips. Sherlock could see hesitation in Mycroft’s eyes as his pink bow lips moved closer… _closer… closer_ until they were touching. The briefest whisper of skin on skin before Mycroft pulled away from the kiss and opened his eyes, his pupils wider than Sherlock had ever seen before and his breath being pulled into his lungs almost by force,

“Sherlock.” Mycroft whispered, his voice deep with emotion,

“Please” Sherlock asked, his eyes pleading with his brother “brother please”

Mycroft’s will broke; throwing himself closer to his brother he crushed their lips together inelegantly, their noses squashed from the strange angle causing a whistle of breath to escape into the silent bedroom. Sherlock whimpered and closed his hands around Mycroft’s wrist keeping himself anchored and forcing himself to believe that this was really happening,

His mind quieted to a whisper as Mycroft opened his lips and allowed the tip of his tongue to run along Sherlock’s bottom lip. Sherlock followed Mycroft’s movements and rhythm, sweeping his tongue around Mycroft’s mouth messily until Mycroft pulled away and slowly showed him how he preferred. Mycroft smiled as he pulled a keening groan from Sherlock as he bit and nibbled on his swollen lower lip, his teeth worrying the pink line until Sherlock was grinding himself against Mycroft’s side desperately.

The elder Holmes turned to his side, threading his fingers through Sherlock’s hair he pulled his brother closer to kiss him again; the sensation and taste of Sherlock completely entrancing as he ran his other hand down Sherlock’s spine to rest on his hip.

Sherlock was trembling in his brother’s arms; too many emotions and feelings rushing through his nerves as he attempted to file away every sensation in his quaking mind palace. It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough yet completely overwhelming at the same time, his mind felt like it was being torn open and then there was bliss and quiet.

His orgasm washed over him completely untouched; Sherlock groaned deeply against Mycroft’s lips as he shot rope after rope of cum into his pyjama bottoms his hips juddering through the aftershocks as the wet patch grew against the fabric,

“Sherlock?” Mycroft asked quizzically with a kind smile

“Shhhh” Sherlock whispered, his cheeks flushed red as he moved his hand to wrap around Mycroft’s own cock, pulling quickly and efficiently until Mycroft gasped and followed him into his own climax, his warm seed running over Sherlock’s fist as his brother stroked him through his orgasm.

The brothers kissed again, softly and tenderly before resting their foreheads together and smiling, breathing in one another’s breaths as the relaxed into the comfort of the mattress.

“We will eventually need to move.” Mycroft smiled before Sherlock shushed him again with a dismissive gesture. Pulling off his trousers he wiped himself down and then helped Mycroft strip naked and cleaned him off with the fabric before discarding it on the floor as the two men, now completely naked, snuggled into each other’s arms.


	4. The Execution Ballet.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok guys, this is where it gets really incesty. No full sex but actual touching and stuff. 
> 
> Also, I'm aware that I end every chapter with the boys falling asleep together. I'm not sure if that's laziness on my part or my brain tricking me into thinking that its showing time passing... possibly both. 
> 
> Has a touch of BalletLock in this chapter, pretty much explained in the story but I thought it would be quite nice to have Sherlock dancing away his stress. The music I imagine him dancing to is linked in the story. I'm thinking Sherlock would be an amazing Ballet dancer like Roberto Bolle (Who is super sexy and talented) so yeh, you can find him on Youtube too.
> 
> As always, any mistakes are my own. Please let me know what you think (I LIVE FOR COMMENTS)

“I remember when you were born.” Mycroft whispered into Sherlock’s curls, their naked bodies relaxed against one another in post orgasmic bliss,

“Hmph” Sherlock replied without opening his eyes,

“You were so small, so delicate and fragile. You terrified me”

Sherlock looked up at Mycroft’s open features; he hadn’t seen this side of his brother for a long, long time.

“I remember Mummy sitting me in a hospital chair, it was high backed and slippy and she placed you in my arms. You were squealing and red faced, your head was a funny shape and you smelt so strange.” Mycroft smiled at the memory “but when she put you onto me, you stopped crying immediately and blinked open your eyes. It was almost as though you recognised me as your brother. Mummy was surprised at our reactions as we just stared at one another.”

Sherlock began tracing his fingers over Mycroft’s stomach and chest aimlessly, enjoying the small friction.

“I knew from that moment on that I would love you. I didn’t want a brother before, I had watched in dread as mummy’s stomach distended and moved with each kick. She wanted me to listen to your heartbeat and feel your movements but I couldn’t. It was too alien, too strange.”

Mycroft stilled for a moment catching his breath

“But then when you finally arrived, I knew I had to protect you forever and make sure you were happy and safe… but I failed.”

Sherlock frowned and sat up, his legs curling under his bum as he sat on his knees and looked over at Mycroft quizzically “Failed?”

“I didn’t see the hurt when I left you and when I finally realised; it was too late. I was so caught up in my own career that I didn’t see that you were breaking down. The night you fell into my arms was the most terrifying moment of my life Sherlock; you’ll never know the sheer panic I felt”

Sherlock took his brothers hands in his own “My issues are mine alone, you cannot blame yourself for my poor life choices brother.”

“If I had of stayed at home longer, if I hadn’t have moved away” Mycroft spoke softly, his voice heavy and almost tearful.

“I would have still done the exact same. Do not flatter yourself” Sherlock smiled “when have you ever known me _not_ do as I please?”

Mycroft pulled Sherlock down to rest on his chest again, enjoying the weight of his head against the skin of his torso he stroked Sherlock’s hair gently “I don’t know what this is, but I need it”

Sherlock stilled before tracing **_M-E /T-O-O_**

* * *

Sherlock’s urge to use was becoming stronger; he had managed to resist for over a month with no real cravings but as time slowly dragged on, the need built to a fever burning through his veins. He sighed and walked to his belongings and pulled out the only thing he knew would help.

Undressing quickly down to his black boxer shorts, he quickly tied the slippers around his ankles carefully ensuring that they were stable and correctly supportive for his feet before stretching out his muscles to ensure he was warmed up before he attempted any real movement;

He pulled out his MP3 player and connected it to the speakers in the dining room where he was standing, the expensive wooden flooring being the perfect companion for his slippers as he found the music he longed for and began to dance.

Sherlock had never been interested in sports, his tall and sinewy body was unprepared for the Rugby and Football which was offered at school and he had no interest in the boredom of Golf or Cricket which appealed to his father. Instead the younger Holmes had taken up dancing, finding the he had an affinity for the graceful movements in Ballet; his long legs strong enough to lift himself on point whilst still maintaining elegance. Mummy had happily obliged her youngest child in his passion, ensuring he attended the best classes money could buy including one on one tutoring with the most successful male dancer in the industry. Sherlock had excelled and was on his way to becoming professional with a full scholarship at the Royal Ballet until a mistimed step had caused him to fall, fracturing his ankle badly and causing him to miss the enrolment date.

The drugs had followed shortly after; beginning with the painkillers prescribed at the hospital Sherlock had chased the sensations of being high, eventually stopping his dancing altogether.

Until today,

Sherlock took a deep breath and lifted himself en pointe; feeling the calming sensation running through him as his calves burnt and his toes creaked against the box. He grit his teeth before lowering himself back down, _maybe this wasn’t such a good idea_ his brain unhelpfully supplied before being shook away by Sherlock.

Taking a deep breath he listened to the [music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=URG3xU4D81g) and allowed himself to be transported away; his mind silenced itself as he followed the strings of the orchestra, bending and straightening his arms in fluid movements as he stretched and expressed himself, releasing his tension into the atmosphere as waves of anger, resentment and pain flowed from him.

His muscles ached and his skin was covered with a fine sheen of sweat as he spun. Feeling the sweat skipping from his hair as he pirouetted quickly, gritting his teeth against the pain in his toes as he balanced, his flexibility was still impressive yet Sherlock was disappointed as he couldn’t kick his leg as high as he had previously and he cursed himself silently, following the music as it increased in drama he threw himself into his routine, his chest bursting with panted breath as he spun and jumped, distantly hearing the sound of something being kicked from the table by his toes but not caring, his body was reacted to the forgotten high of dancing.

As the music built to its climax Sherlock danced with gusto; he could feel his toes bleeding in his slippers and the sweat pouring from his skin but his body thrummed with passion as the song came to an end and he slipped to the floor, panting breathlessly from a pile.

“Bello fratello [ _beautiful brother]_ ” Mycroft said softly from his seat at the table, his voice low and his face flushed,

“I didn’t hear you come in” Sherlock blushed from his position on the floor.

“I’ve been here a while.” Mycroft shrugged simply “I didn’t know you still had your shoes”

Sherlock shrugged again whilst attempting to stand from his crumpled pile. He hissed in agony and slumped back to the floor watching as Mycroft stood and picked up his mostly naked brother carefully, carrying him to the bathroom where he placed him on the closed lid of the toilet,

“I do hate heavy lifting.” Mycroft joked smoothing down his suit as he pulled off the now wrinkled and damp fabric, wet from Sherlock’s sweaty skin.

“So it seems” Sherlock replied with a cheeky smile

“We can’t all be perfect male specimens, Sherlock.” Mycroft smiled before pulling out the first aid kit from the cabinet behind the mirror “This is going to hurt”

Sherlock nodded and clenched his teeth as Mycroft began unlacing his slippers and carefully pulling them off Sherlock’s bleeding feet. Mycroft clicked his tongue between his teeth and began cleaning away the crimson liquid, carefully checking for any long term damage but finding none he carefully bandaged up the foot before moving to the next one.

“What brought this on?” Mycroft asked from between Sherlock’s legs as he worked,

“The urge to use” Sherlock answered truthfully “desperation, longing, need”

Mycroft bit his lower lip and looked up at his brother; his cheeks slightly flushed as he listened to Sherlock’s deep voice whisper the words with an eroticism which Mycroft hadn’t expected.

“Do you… still have a longing?” Mycroft whispered, his voice breaking as lust seeped into his words.

Sherlock brought his lips close to Mycroft for a deep and passionate kiss, their tongues sweeping against one another as they happily exhaled into one another’s lungs. Sherlock opened his legs wider allowing Mycroft to close the gap between them until they were almost chest to chest, snogging with wild abandon as Sherlock sat on the closed toilet lid.

“Not the most romantic of venues.” Sherlock whispered causing Mycroft to bark out a laugh and seat himself on his calves and feet “shall we move elsewhere?”

Sherlock realised he was still only dressed in his underwear and that the sweat from his dancing session had now dried to his skin making him feel very uncomfortable and dirty. He pulled away from Mycroft and explained he would have a quick shower and meet him in _their_ bedroom to which Mycroft agreed, muttering under his breath playfully over the waste of his bandaging skills and the ache in his back from carrying Sherlock’s weight. With a final kiss the brothers moved away, Sherlock into the shower whilst Mycroft walked into their bedroom and stripped to his underwear and lay on top of the comforter reading a few pages of his book to still his mind before the inevitable hurricane of Sherlock returned. 

* * *

 

Sherlock entered the bedroom naked; his hair comically wrapped in a towel turban as he hobbled to sit on the bed whilst still slightly damp. Mycroft put down his book and watched Sherlock hungrily, the long lines of muscle perfectly wrapped in the most beautiful creamy skin framed with model cheekbones and that hair, _that hair was perfection in itself._

Sherlock pulled off the towel and rubbed his curls with it a few times before throwing it into the laundry basket concealed in the corner. He lifted himself on all fours and climbed up the bed until he was laid beside his brother, resting his head on Mycroft’s shoulder. Mycroft moved the book to the bedside table once more and kissed his brother passionately, the slow and tender kiss bringing them both back to complete hardness against one another.

“May I?” Mycroft asked, watching Sherlock’s half lidded eyes close as his head bobbed in consent. Mycroft smiled and began kissed a path from Sherlock’s cheekbones, over the jaw and down the pale, swanlike neck. Stopping to nibble at the collarbone, Mycroft smiled at the reaction he was drawing from his brother, Sherlock’s face was already flushed pink which crept down his throat and his cock twitched eagerly in its nest of curls between his legs. Mycroft continued his journey, licking and sucking at sensitive nipples and then down to nuzzle against the ticklish skin of Sherlock’s ribs and waist until he finally reached Sherlock’s thighs and the delight which awaited him.

Sherlock was of average size, perfectly proportioned for his build. His uncut foreskin cupped the head perfectly and Mycroft licked his lips as a bead of precum formed at the slit. His testicles hung heavily below his shaft and were almost hairless compared to the wild bush which covered his pubic area. Mycroft ran his fingers through the dark hairs, scratching carefully and hearing Sherlock gasp with the sensations,

Mycroft grabbed the thickened shaft tightly but carefully as he ran his tongue over the reddened tip; tasting the untasted virgin precum for the first time. Checking Sherlock’s reactions, Mycroft steadied himself and watched his brother relax and groan softly at the bliss washing over his body allowing Mycroft to continue. The older Holmes moved gently to suck more of the shaft into his mouth, gagging slightly before relaxing his throat and holding the base firmly as he opened and closed his lips around the first few inches, bobbing his head and swirling his tongue he found Sherlock was a vocal lover, whispers and groans escaping his pink, kiss swollen lips with every pass of Mycroft’s talented tongue. Sherlock gripped the bedding tightly, his head thrown back in bliss, moaning deeply as Mycroft smiles and continues. Unhurriedly building Sherlock’s orgasm.

Mycroft removed one of Sherlock’s hands from its death grip on the bedding; placing it instead on his head allowing Sherlock to grip his hair tightly to anchor himself whilst Mycroft’s spare hand trails up to Sherlock’s nipples, pinching them slightly and listening enraptured to the breathy erotic whine which escaped his brothers lips as his stomach muscles tense and shudder beneath the soft skin of Sherlock’s stomach. Mycroft focussed on breathing through his nose as Sherlock’s hips began to thrust back and forth into his warm heat, precum dripping onto his tongue in long strands as Sherlock is driven closer and closer to his peak.

Forcing himself to slow down; Mycroft pulled his lips away from the swollen and tight shaft to nuzzle and lick across Sherlock’s tight balls and perineum, licking and tasting the unknown and previously untouched skin between Sherlock’s thighs. Sherlock gasped and moved his hands back to the bedding, gripping tightly in closed fists as his eyes close and his lips part with a soft sigh.

Mycroft moved below further; desperately seeking the one untouched area guaranteed to drive Sherlock wild. His tongue extended against the puckered entrance of Sherlock’s arse, a gentle nudge of his tongue against the skin caused a shock through Sherlock who opened his eyes widely and shouted ‘no’ at a shocked and startled Mycroft who immediately pulled back with a whispered, heartfelt apology. Stroking comforting circles on Sherlock’s lower stomach, Mycroft attempted to apologise and regain the intimacy lost in the moment.

Sherlock’s erection had softened slightly due to the strange sensations, Mycroft immediately began to suck and nuzzle the shaft to full hardness, opening and closing his jaw and adding occasional suction to make Sherlock growl with pleasure. Mycroft used his fingers to trace along Sherlock’s tight balls and then up to his sensitive nipples where he stroked and teased the nubs into stiff peaks. Mycroft felt himself aching; his cock tense from being hard and pressed against the bedding as he lay between his brother’s thighs and his jaw hurt from the constant pressure of oral activities but he refused to stop due to the unbearably erotic noises escaping Sherlock’s lips. Sherlock gripped his brothers hair again, pulling his head back onto his tip where Mycroft focused on the slit and soft bundle of nerves on the underside, Sherlock mumbled curses and relaxed his grip on Mycroft’s hair as his brother lowered his head and widened his throat until his nose was buried in Sherlock’s dark curls.

Focusing on breathing through his nose, Mycroft felt the tears fill his eyes and the burning pressure increasing in his throat as he attempted to swallow around the tip of Sherlock’s prick. Pulling away he took a long, heavy breath and repeated the motion, swallowing around the head until Sherlock is begging at the fluttering sensations running through his shaft,

“Oh god” Sherlock whimpered “Myc, my god, can’t”

Mycroft pulled off and smiled warmly to his brother before whispering “don’t hold back brother.”

Sherlock’s muscles tensed, his head thrown back to expose his throat and his lips opened wide as he rushed closer and closer to his release. The tight grip of Mycroft’s hand around the base of his cock dampening the immediate need to cum but he knew it wouldn't be long before he exploded, he gripped Mycroft’s head again as he moved back and forth, Mycroft pressing his tongue into the weeping slit of Sherlock’s tip before picking up speed, his head bobbing quickly and efficiently.

“Yes. Oh god yes Myc” Sherlock shouted in an almost desperate scream, his breath coming hard and fast as his eyes roll to the back of his skull, “fuck yes”

Mycroft smiled a contented grin and with one final flick of his tongue, he felt Sherlock come apart in his mouth. His body locked tightly as his cock filled further, twitching minutely in Mycroft’s mouth until rope after rope of salty and bitter cum filled Mycroft’s throat and mouth. Mycroft swallowed as best he could, coughing slightly at the thickness and quantity of Sherlock’s climax but continued to swallow as much as possible until Sherlock lay above him whimpering quietly, his eyes closed and his chest heaving as Mycroft sucked him through his first ever orally received orgasm.

Mycroft cleaned up Sherlock’s shaft gently with his tongue before wiping his lips and licking away the trickle which had escaped. He continued touching and caressing the spent cock until Sherlock begged him for mercy, a cry of ‘no more’ caused Mycroft to shuffle back up the bed and press a soft kiss against Sherlock’s forehead,

Sherlock looked confused and pressed his lips to his brothers wondering why Mycroft wouldn’t return his kisses. “Sherlock I’ve just… the taste.” Mycroft blushed,

Sherlock rolled his eyes and used his tongue to open his brothers lips tasting his bitterness on his brother but not caring as the pair kissed passionately and lovingly,

Sherlock pulled away first, snuggling up to Mycroft’s warmth “You need to teach me how to do that.”

Mycroft smiled and nodded pulling Sherlock closer. Sherlock looked down at his still extremely hard brother, a spot leaking over the front of his expensive silk boxers “May I?”

Mycroft nodded gratefully and watched as Sherlock grabbed the expensive hand cream which was left on the bedside table, smothering his hands with the cold liquid he warmed it before asking Mycroft to pull down his underwear. Mycroft did and Sherlock wrapped his hands around the heated shaft, feeling it pulse under his fingertips and leak further, the precum mixing with the hand cream to create further more slick for Sherlock to use. Sherlock used his hands effectively, running his thumb over the leaking slit as he stroked up and down frantically, unable to tease out the bliss for his brother who was desperate with need, his cock almost purple beneath Sherlock’s long, callused fingers,

“My testicles, Sherlock, please” Mycroft begged, his voice strained and his face red,

Sherlock changed his position quickly, wrapping his hand around the shaft whilst moving the other hand below to cup and roll the tender package beneath. They were already drawn up tight to Mycroft’s body, the seam clearly visible to Sherlock who ran his fingers over the sensitive skin before continuing to roll and massage them,

“Close.” Mycroft warned, his face flushed red which travelled down his throat and chest leaving a pink blush over the creamy skin,

“Mmmmm” Sherlock hummed, giving a final twist to his wrist and sending Mycroft tumbling over the edge into his own release which covered Sherlock’s fingers and his own lower stomach in milky, thick strands. Mycroft came with a soft groan, barely audible over the slick sounds of Sherlock’s hands which worked him through his climax gently, coaxing the remaining drops onto Mycroft’s auburn bush of pubic hair.

Sherlock dipped his tongue into Mycroft’s navel, tasting the small pool of cum cooling on his skin. It was less bitter than his own, sweeter almost which made Sherlock thank the cakes and sweets that Mycroft ate,

Sherlock wriggled back up the bed, resting his head on the pillows and cuddling into his brother, the need to sleep almost overwhelming his tired mind.

“Shower” Mycroft mumbled, attempting to dislodge himself from Sherlock’s tentacle like grip “Sherlock I need a shower.”

“Nooooo” Sherlock complained dramatically, “a little longer, please”

“Bloody hell.” Mycroft laughed and pressed a kiss to his sibling’s forehead allowing Sherlock to fall into slumber before he released himself and went for a shower. 

* * *

 

**_W-H-Y / D-I-D / Y-O-U / S-A-Y / N-O? /_** Mycroft spelt out in the still darkness of their shared bedroom. Sherlock had fallen asleep immediately after their session and hadn’t awoken but Mycroft’s curiosity had grown until he finally couldn’t stand it anymore. Sherlock’s reaction to anilingus had come as a surprise to Mycroft.

“Scared.” Sherlock whispered into the inky night,

“Of what?” Mycroft replied, running his hands through Sherlock’s hair.

Sherlock shrugged feebly cuddling closer into Mycroft “Seemed wrong”

Mycroft laughed out loud at that, “I think we’ve gone past the seemingly wrong brother”

Sherlock joined in with his laughter before stilling again and turning his head over to look at Mycroft hovering over his shoulder “Never been touched there, was just afraid.”

Mycroft understood and soothed his brother with hushed tones and soft strokes “Relax baby brother. Sleep now”


	5. Veil the night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I need to put in a warning for this chapter. It involves a terrorist plot by a white supremacist group, therefore there will be some brief racism and stupidity. PLEASE NOTE, THE AUTHOR DOES NOT HAVE THESE OPINIONS!! I just needed to think of a terrorist plot as part of the story and this one came to mind. I have absolutely no prejudices or racist thoughts about anybody or anything. I'm all about the bumming.
> 
> Erm... Sibling Incest (eventually) after quite a long chapter. I've also wrote the character of 'Woody' based on Woody from This is England (The film) and although you don't need to have seen the film, its pretty good. 
> 
> Big thank you to Catie for her London knowledge (I'm Northern, I know nothing of dahn souf)
> 
> FOR THE FINAL TIME, I DO NOT AGREE WITH ANYTHING WHICH I'VE MADE THE CHARACTERS SAY OR DO AND I HAVE NO PRIOR KNOWLEDGE OF TERRORISM OR HOW ONE WOULD GO ABOUT DOING A TERRORIST PLOT. So yeh... Please don't arrest or murder me.

Sherlock flicked through the classified information which Mycroft had left on the desk for him to peruse; his brain ticked through the dossier, filing away the relevant facts but frustratingly unable to make sense of it. Something was missing and Sherlock was finding it harder and harder to link it together.

He walked into town and found Sandy sitting in her usual spot beside the bridge; she met his gaze and smiled, gesturing for him to meet her around the back towards a darkened alleyway.

“Sherlock.” She smiled happily,

“Sandy” Sherlock returned the smile genuinely “keeping well I hope?”

Sandy nodded and took Sherlock’s hand in her own, slipping a folded note into his hand she looked around herself cautiously “We shouldn’t be seen together”

Sherlock knotted his eyebrows together in confusion before handing her a small, inexpensive mobile phone with his number inputted. An understanding gaze slipped between the two and then Sandy moved back to her original place, sitting on the cold cement of the kerbside as Sherlock gracefully strode through the backstreets until he was secure enough to read the note;

_Abandoned warehouses by the docks. 7:30 tonight._

Sherlock smiled and began walking back to the house to prepare. 

* * *

 

The warehouse was dingy and smelt of old, rotten wood mixed with the rank Thames. Sherlock wrinkled his nose before pushing through towards the fire pit burning in the middle of the huge space. He noticed Sandy sitting with a few other people so walked towards her first, cautiously approaching but making enough noise not to startle the nervous social outcasts into believing he was the authorities.

“Sherlock” Sandy greeted him warmly, standing up and walking to his side “I want you to meet my friends.”

Sandy introduced each member by name; Sherlock stored the information in his mind palace before doing sweeping deductions for each person. Once introductions were complete, Sandy became serious and offered Sherlock a seat on the makeshift benches around the fire,

“Woody, tell him what you know” Sandy instructed kindly watching the older man shift nervously before looking up at Sherlock,

_Northern, nice family, ex-forces PTSD sufferer, alcoholic but looking to stop, not street homeless, staying in a B &B, _

Woody looked terrified as he looked over Sherlock’s expensive suit and coat; shifting from side to side he cleared his throat and began to speak,

“I go to this AA meeting yeah, It’s in a church, ran by a lovely old fella called Reg” Woody started “Anyways there was this new bloke, called ‘imself Pike but I don’t think it were’ his real name. He sat silently whilst everyone talked about stuff just listenin’ y’know? Which isn’t that weird coz’ most people do on their first night. So during the tea break he come over to me and started to talk, nothing strange but he said he noticed me tattoos”

Sherlock leaned forward and inspected Woody’s tattoos which covered his hands in homemade scrawl,

“He seen the National Front one I ‘ad done when I was a teenager before I joined the army. Said he was also a member and started spouting loads of racist shit about Muzzies coming over and taking jobs. Anyways, that bit doesn’t matter, what made me feel nervous was tha’ he asked me to meet some of his friends. Apparently they meet up.”

Sherlock nodded, picking up on any useful information,

“He said there was gunna be something big happenin’ at Christmas and I should meet them if I wanted to be involved.”

Sherlock stilled a steepled his fingers under his chin “did he say where they meet? Or what the big thing would be?”

Woody shook his head “jus’ said to meet him at the meeting tomorrow.”

“Would you be willing to go? I’ll come with you.” Sherlock insisted.

“Err… no offence Mr ‘Olmes but I don’t think they’d like someone like you comin’ in… you wouldn’t exactly fit in.” Woody said nervously

“Don’t worry. I’ll meet you outside the church tomorrow Woody” Sherlock smiled “Thank you Sandy.”

Sherlock and Sandy walked together to the exit to the warehouse before Sherlock pulled out his wallet and handed her a small bundle of notes wrapped up in an elastic band “Ensure everyone has enough to eat.”

Sandy nodded and walked back to her group leaving Sherlock to walk back to Mycroft’s home. 

* * *

 

“Sherlock?” Mycroft shouted as Sherlock entered the house “Where have you been?”

“Had an appointment” Sherlock answered in reply, walking through to the office to see his brother staring at him hawkishly,

“You smell of smoke” Mycroft stated wrinkling his nose “and something rancid… where have you been?”

“Chasing leads” Sherlock replied with an excited smile ‘the game is on dear brother!’

* * *

London was becoming packed with people, Sherlock barged his way through Oxford Street as shoppers and tourists bought trinkets and presents for their loved ones for Christmas which was only a fortnight away. The bright, twinkling lights which wrapped around each light pole and shop window was beautiful in an abstract way, the festive spirit creeping into Sherlock’s psyche before he stamped it down with an internal roll of his eyes. He called into the shop he needed and picked out jeans and a plaid shirt along with a pair of heavy Doctor Martin boots, putting them onto the counter he paid quickly and left to re-join the bustling excited shoppers.

He rushed home with his disguise knowing that he needed it to be perfect. Moving to the outside of the house he scuffed the boots on the brickwork, rubbing mud onto the soles and scratches on the leather making them look old and well used; unthreading the laces he replaced them with an old pair he had hanging around in another pair of boots. His trousers came next and he used one of Mycroft’s cigarettes to burn small holes into the fabric to make them look well worn, fraying the bottom of the denim jeans he held them up to his gaze before deeming them acceptable. His shirt was acceptable as it was. He showered quickly, washing his hair and stepping out of the tub whilst glancing at his watch _5.30 only two hours to go._

Dressing himself carefully he dried his hair and pulled it back into a lazy bobble before pulling on a knitted beany hat to finish off his skinhead ensemble. Grabbing the Lynx deodorant he had purchased from a supermarket he sprayed himself liberally before looking himself over in the mirror, the only thing missing was the tattoos.

Sherlock grabbed for a mixture of ink he had created earlier; using a fine paintbrush he daubed the words ‘ _Skin_ ’ and ‘ _head’_ across his knuckles before adding ‘NF’ and ‘BNP’ for good measure. He waited until the ink was dried and checked out the final works, they looked old and home done which was good enough. Grabbing his phone and wallet he sent Mycroft a quick text

**_Keep your phone on. May have vital information later tonight. Need immediate reply – SH_ **

His phone beeped with a response seconds later;

**_Be careful Sherlock. Don’t do anything stupid – MH_ **

Sherlock rolled his eyes, grabbing at soil from the nearest plant pot he rubbed it into his nails and hands before he climbed into the car waiting for him, advising the driver to drop him off at an address two streets away.

* * *

Sherlock’s stomach quivered nervously and he momentarily felt the spike of panic in his guts at the thought of being found out; he was a good actor ( _you can’t be a good addict without being a good actor)_ but he was aware of how important the information he needed was. The driver pulled up and he climbed out and began walking towards the church where the AA meeting was being held,

Woody’s eyes widened when he saw Sherlock and his mouth gaped momentarily before shaking his head “Mr ‘Olmes.”

“Not tonight Woody, I’m Barry” Sherlock smiled, changing his dialect and accent to something more appropriate.

“Alright Barry” Woody smiled “Shall we go in?”

Sherlock sat silently observing the people around him; he deduced most of them actually wanted help to combat their drinking addiction but noticed one or two of the members who were lonely; attending the classes for company rather than spend their time alone. Sherlock noticed his target enter slightly late, nodding at Woody who nodded back before they took their seats and began the tedious meeting.

When the break finally came around Sherlock stood and made himself a cup of tea; the church hall was cold and he was freezing without his Belstaff keeping him warm. He cupped the foam container in his tattooed hands and watched as the guy sauntered over to him cocky and full of himself;

“Alright mate” Pike said to Sherlock “You’re new here too?”

“Yeah, Woody thought I should come down. I get angry when I get drunk and end up fighting” Sherlock laughed putting on a ragged accent, his voice slightly higher than normal “I’m Barry”

“Nowt wrong with a good fight” Pike smiled, slapping Sherlock on the shoulder “I’m Pike, Did Woody tell ya about our meetings?”

Sherlock nodded before looking around him; checking nobody was around before adding “I don’t think Woody’s that interested mate but I am… Where are the meetings? Would be good to be around people who feel the same way again. Too much political correctness nowadays mate.”

“Fuckin’ right pal” Pike relaxed, slapping Sherlock again “We can go there now if ya like? Or do you want to stay here?”

“Nah, this place isn’t for me. Don’t see anything wrong with having a good night out.” Sherlock laughed “Let’s go”

Sherlock watched Pike walk to pick up his jacket and brought out his mobile, sending Mycroft a text telling him he was going to the next meeting and to keep him located on GPS. Mycroft replied immediately with an “okay” before Sherlock put his phone back into his pocket and walked to where Woody sat nervously, still on the wooden seat in the circle.

“I’m going to their meeting. Relax, everything will be alright” Sherlock reassured putting a kindly hand on Woody’s shoulder,

“Be careful Barry” Woody said cautiously as Sherlock was met by Pike who steered him towards the exit of the church.

* * *

The meeting place was a rundown pub in a deprived area of Walthamstow in the East End. Sherlock followed Pike into the rough establishment, watching as people turned to see who entered, their eyes scanning Sherlock then turning around in their seats to sup their pints.

The two men walked through to the back room where a small group of men sat drinking whilst music played loudly in the background. Sherlock steeled himself and followed Pike into the warmth of the sweaty room, the group fell silent before standing and grabbing Pike tightly for a round of shoulder slapping and whispers,

“This is Barry” Pike introduced Sherlock to the group “This is Pete, Barnsey, Trev and Johnno”

“Alright” Sherlock said grabbing each by hand and deducing them quickly.

Sherlock attempted to appear relaxed to the group; joking about women and football ( _thankfully something he had researched before leaving the house)_ whilst drinking pints of vile lager which tasted like the worst thing Sherlock had ever had. He forced himself to swallow the amber liquid and join in with the racist, vile jokes which had his stomach recoiling more than the Lager.

“So, how did you get involved in the National Front?” Johnno asked clocking the tattoos written on Sherlock’s hands ( _Mid-fifties, balding but refusing to accept it, undiagnosed heart disease, two kids he’s never seen, ex-offender)_

“Me dad” Sherlock shrugged “he was part of the Inter city firm. West Ham football hooligans, he loved kicking arse and drinking. Got involved with the political side after he realised that too many foreigners were coming over and taking our jobs.”

The men sat around him all nodded in agreement “I knew some lads from the ICF, good lads” Pete added ( _Thirties, married, into dogging and domestic violence, sells weed from home)_

“Can’t do it now. Not with the CCTV and police all over the stadiums. Bloody shame” Sherlock smiled coyly “Can’t beat the old days.”

With his backstory complete, Sherlock relaxed and listened to the other men talk before the conversation began to turn to Christmas.

“Did you hear about them telling us we can’t have Nativities in schools anymore? And we can’t say ‘appy Christmas? We have to say ‘appy Holidays now” Trev spat angrily ( _thirties, very overweight, diabetes and heart disease. Unmarried, no children)_

“Political correctness gone mad” Sherlock chanted along with the others in what was seemingly their group mantra, internally rolling his eyes at the usual arguments of morons who were against multiculturalism who only read tabloid newspapers.

“Won’t be laughing this Christmas.” Johnno laughed cryptically

“What’s happening this Christmas?” Sherlock asked, leaning forward and looking around to check nobody else was listening. The men did the same before leaning in and explaining the plan.

* * *

“Sorry lads, I need a slash” Sherlock lied, his heart pounding in his ears as he stood up on shaky legs which wasn’t completely due to the Lager, “which way?”

Pete directed him to the toilets and ordered another round as Sherlock wandered to the toilets. His hand gripped his mobile and once he was securely into the door, he called Mycroft.

“Sherlock” Mycroft answered on the first ring “What’s happening?”

‘Get _everybody_ here. Now. It’s worse than we thought. Immediately” Sherlock stammered, his hands trembling as he spoke “Myc please”

“Back up is on the way. ETA two minutes.” Mycroft soothed “I’m coming down. I’ll meet you there.”

Sherlock hung up and urinated quickly, hoping to flush out the lingering Lager flooding his system. He cleaned his hands and exited the toilets to re-join the group in the bar.

“Sorry lads” Sherlock smiled “my bird rang me, won’t stop going on” he rolled his eyes comically watching as the men laughed and handed him another pint.

The bang of a small army of SWAT officers piling through the door made everybody in the pub jump including Sherlock himself. The click of loaded automatic weapons ensuring that everybody stayed still whilst the officers cleared the area and arrested everyone in the pub, although Mycroft had arranged Sherlock was not to be actually arrested; the officers still handcuffed him and walked him out of the pub to sit on the cold, wet pavement outside the bar. He complained loudly, swearing at the police officers to ensure that he was still trusted by the group and beyond suspicion. He looked over at the group glaring “Who fucking set us up?”

The other men all shook their heads in shock; looking at one another accusingly before they were put into separate police cars and driven away. Sherlock was bundled into an officer’s car and driven away to meet Mycroft a few streets from the scene,

Sherlock realised the driver was Lestrade and asked the DI to uncuff him as he was beginning to ache which Greg did quickly. Pulling over he helped Sherlock out of the locked doors and stood close to him until Mycroft arrived, his umbrella in hand.

“Gregory, Sherlock” Mycroft smiled

“Mycroft” Sherlock gasped and threw himself into Mycroft’s shoulder “Thank god”

Taken aback by the show of affection in public Mycroft awkwardly patted Sherlock on the back before taking a step away “Tell me what happened”

Sherlock exhaled shakily before beginning the story;

The men had been plotting a terrorist attack; something so repulsive and vile that it would begin a race war when the inevitable media circus began over who was responsible. The group had heard of a fundraiser being held on Christmas eve for the Great Ormond Street Children’s Hospital, there would not only be some of the world’s best known celebrities but also Royalty and Politicians as well as the sick children themselves meeting Santa. The men had heard through a friend that he had a contract to build a stage and other joinery tasks which would give the group the opportunity to work closely with this man and plant explosives inside the main hall where the fundraiser would be held. Then they would simply detonate the bombs and blame Islamic fanatics.

Sherlock shivered and his stomach felt heavy with sickness as he relived the hate which had spewed from the group’s lips. They were willing to sacrifice children to ensure that their white power nonsense was extended into other places in the country.

Mycroft was stunned but nodded immediately; Greg helped Sherlock sit back in the car, his legs shaking whilst Mycroft got onto the phone and began making the necessary phone calls.

“Sherlock” Mycroft sighed softly coming closer to the car. “Go home, I’ll see you in a little while”

Sherlock nodded exhausted and allowed his head to fall back against the headrest of the car,

* * *

Sherlock was restlessly sleeping when Mycroft returned from the office; Sherlock checked his phone and saw the time was 5.47am before Mycroft undressed and climbed into the bed, closely holding his brother to his naked chest.

“Explosives were found and are now safe. All men have admitted their part in making the pipe bombs and attempting to incite racial hatred. You need not worry baby brother”

Sherlock nuzzled closer into Mycroft; pulling him down for a deep yet lazy kiss, their lips and tongues working together to maintain the closeness and passion between them as they slowly became aroused. Sherlock was still feeling the effects of the adrenalin pumping through his veins, making his blood feel white hot as it pumped through him. He desperately wanted his brother.

“Myc?” Sherlock asked softly, his breath ghosting over Mycroft’s lips

“Hmmm?” Mycroft replied, his lips kissing a trail down Sherlock’s neck and throat and over his collarbone.

“Can we make love?”

Mycroft stilled, surprised at the request but obviously desperate with need for his baby brother. He sat up and looked down at Sherlock’s lust blown eyes “We need to talk about it first before we do it”

Sherlock sat up so he was the same height as Mycroft, their eyes level and their fingers entwined as they breathed and focussed on calming themselves from the dizzying eroticism of the moment,

“If we do this… this is incest.” Mycroft started softly “Full blown, completely illegal, morally repulsive behaviour”

Sherlock shrugged “We’re not children or vulnerable, you can’t get me pregnant and it’s totally consensual. Doesn’t matter to me what society thinks”

Mycroft nodded, he felt the same way but it needed to be said before anything further happened.

“You’re still a virgin”

Sherlock nodded and shrugged again “Yes”

“Would you have a preference? Top or Bottom?”

Sherlock bit his lip nervously “I don’t think I’d like to be penetrated.”

“Okay, Top it is” Mycroft smiled, fiendishly glad that Sherlock had chosen to top as he much preferred being a bottom, “We’re both clean from STI’s or infectious diseases so condoms aren’t a necessity but if you would prefer one, we can use them.”

Sherlock nodded nervously still unable to explain his deathly fear of becoming ill due to sex and the media campaign which affected him so badly so long ago.

Mycroft exhaled shakily before kissing Sherlock softly and chastely “We can stop anytime if it’s too much.”

“I’m ready” Sherlock said firmly but not confidently, deepening Mycroft’s kiss and pushing his brother down to rest his head on the pillow, lying himself over Mycroft’s soft creamy skin until they were chest to chest, their erections lined up against one another and their legs entwined.

Mycroft reached into the top drawer and pulled out an expensive looking bottle of lubricant and a pack of condoms. Leaving them by their side he slowly spread his legs and allowed Sherlock to move inside the widened space, gasping slightly as Sherlock stroked his red and weeping cock onto his stomach.

“O-Ok” Mycroft stammered “T-Take the lube and spread it over your fingers.”

“I know what I’m doing” Sherlock growled in annoyance before biting his lip “Sorry”

Mycroft kissed away the frown on Sherlock’s lips before lying back down silently, watching as Sherlock clicked open the bottle and slicked his fingers thoroughly before running his finger over the soft wrinkled skin of his brothers opening, circling gently he felt Mycroft relax enough to push his index finger inside to the first knuckle, stilling when Mycroft exhaled blissfully and grabbed the bedding tightly,

“Yes. Sherlock.” Mycroft keened, his ginger eyelashes fluttering against his cheek as he closed his eyes.

Sherlock bit his lower lip as he continued slowly pressing inside Mycroft’s tight heat, feeling the muscles relax and allow him further he searched for the pleasurable nub inside his brother, watching intently as Mycroft bucked from the bed and keened when Sherlock circled it with his finger “unggg”

Sherlock pulled out his finger, slicked himself with more lube and pressed two fingers inside, feeling the tightness gripping him as though trying to suck him into his brother’s body. Mycroft hissed slightly at the burning stretch until Sherlock’s talented and callused fingers brushed his prostate again, the older man looked down at his cock leaking copious amounts of fluid onto his slight tummy.

“God you’re sexy” Sherlock whispered, his head bobbing down to lick and suck the moisture from the tip of his brothers cock ‘so sexy and mine’

Mycroft had lost the power of speech; his mind whirring he could only nod wordlessly and groan wantonly as Sherlock one more brushed against his bundle of nerves.

Sherlock removed his two fingers and pressed in with three feeling the tightness more so this time, the puffy rim of Mycroft’s hole already looking sore and used to Sherlock’s naïve eyes.

“Sl-Slow” Mycroft stammered “It-It’s been a while”

Sherlock nodded and slowed his movements, taking his time to stretch and scissor his fingers inside Mycroft’s body to allow him to grow accustomed to the sensations. Mycroft was moaning wildly with need as he felt Sherlock crick his fingers to search for his prostate, cupping the spot he was able to stroke and play with the nub until Mycroft cried out that he was already close and didn’t want to cum until Sherlock did. Sherlock stopped his ministrations before pulling out his hands and frantically grabbing for a condom with slick and slippy hands.

Mycroft took pity on his brother, opening the sheath and rolling it onto the red and angry looking head of Sherlock’s erection. Clicking open the bottle he poured a generous amount of lube onto Sherlock’s hand and allowed him to slick himself up. Sherlock trembled visibly as he pressed the tip of his cock to his brothers entrance, Mycroft pulled his brother down to lay flat on him, their chests rubbing against one another as Sherlock slipped inside, inch by inch.

Mycroft gasped into Sherlock’s ear and wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s back, his nails digging in slightly as he attempted to anchor himself to the bed and the unbelievable sensation of having his brother inside him for the first time. Sherlock lowered himself to rest on his forearms which buried themselves under Mycroft’s shoulders allowing for better access to Mycroft’s lips, passionate kisses built up to a sensual and erotic climax as Sherlock ran his tongue over his brothers own,

Wet noises echoed around the dark bedroom as their lips met in frenzied kisses whilst Sherlock’s hips worked in a steady rhythm to drive Mycroft closer and closer to his release. Mycroft’s cock trapped between their stomachs was being stroked perfectly by the skin, spreading the precum over the pale flesh. Sherlock lifted himself slightly to ensure that he was hitting Mycroft’s prostate with every thrust which resulted in a whine unlike anything Mycroft had uttered before, a keening, desperate moan pulled from his lips with every press of Sherlock’s blunt tip on his bundle of nerves bringing him desperately close to the edge.

“S-Sherlock” Mycroft begged ‘So close. Please. Brother, harder’

A thrill of pleasure ran up Sherlock’s spine as he picked up the pace, slamming into Mycroft quickly and messily. Mycroft’s face was flushed red and covered with a sheen of sweat; his hands gripping Sherlock tight as he thrust _once… twice_ … and then Mycroft was coming. His cock twitched virtually untouched between their bodies as hot, stringy strands of cum shot over both their stomachs and chests. Sherlock heard Mycroft’s deep, involuntary moan which immediately set him off on his own orgasm which seemed to begin from his toes and radiate outwards until he too peaked and began to unload his climax inside his brother but being caught in the condom. Sherlock groaned and his eyes rolled back as he shuddered through his orgasm before collapsing boneless onto Mycroft’s chest. Their lips meeting in lazy and sated kisses.

After a few moments Mycroft became restless; the slight pressure of Sherlock inside him was becoming an ache and he softly nudged Sherlock until the younger Holmes pulled out of his tired and used hole and collapsed onto the mattress, his cum filled condom still in place around his softening cock.

Mycroft stood on very shaky legs and walked to the bathroom; cleaning his chest and stomach of his ejaculate before wetting a towel in warm water he returned to his brother and began the clean-up. Carefully peeling away the condom he tied it up and wrapped it in tissue before placing it in the bin and wiping away the sweat and cum from Sherlock’s neck, chest and stomach.

The two men curled around one another in post coital bliss; breathing heavily and softly stroking their fingers over one another’s sensitive skin,

“You saved a lot of lives tonight baby brother” Mycroft smiled pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s lips “You did so well, you were so brave and so so clever”

“I can’t believe people would hurt children for their own gain” Sherlock said sadly

“The world is full of bad people Sherlock.” Mycroft shifted uncomfortably, his own record of torturing those who wouldn’t co-operate now springing to mind.

“We’re not bad people” Sherlock reasoned, remembering back to his comment on their first night together “We just come from a bad place.”

Mycroft pulled Sherlock closer and pressed a kiss to his forehead “You could never be a bad person.” 

* * *

 

“Myc?” Sherlock whispered sometime later into the still darkness of their room,

“Unggh?” Mycroft groaned, his eyes flickering open sleepily “Sh’lock?”

“I’m bloody starving. Why do people drink Lager? I have an overwhelming urge to eat a kebab.”

Mycroft began to giggle uncontrollably causing Sherlock to join in before they climbed from the bed to raid the fridge for a midnight ( _albeit at 7.30am)_ snack.


	6. And it's such a waste of all that I am

The next week was spent in a flourish of activity relating to the failed terrorist plot. Sherlock worked closely with Mycroft to ensure the group were fully investigated and charged in all crimes to secure their lifetime imprisonment. Mycroft was insanely proud of his baby brother; bringing him into work and showing him off around the office as though he was his own child. Sherlock enjoyed the time spent in Mycroft’s company, especially when they finally managed to seclude themselves in Mycroft’s office away from spying eyes where they could have a lingering kiss full of devotion.

Sherlock had been rewarded with a large and extremely generous sum of money for his work which he begged Mycroft to keep for him. The temptation towards street drugs still occasionally pulling at him as they attempted to lure him back into using; Sherlock had used Mycroft’s connections to provide shelter and food for his blossoming homeless network overseen by Sandy who acted as the centre of the web, all dealings going through her from her new home in a small flat in the East End. Sandy had wept with tears of joy at her new accommodation but worked tirelessly to ensure all whispers of intrigue were brought to Sherlock’s attention at once.

Mycroft waited until Sherlock had left the building, returning home in the black car and leaving Mycroft alone in the darkened office with his thoughts;

Christmas had never been a hugely important holiday for him. He had always returned to the Holmes family manor to spend time with a frosty and surly Sherlock and his parents who seemed distant yet loving to the older child. Mycroft had ensured each family member received a suitable gift and he stayed around for Christmas lunch much to Mummy’s delight who would coo at having her two boys together before promptly drinking too much wine with dinner, crying at her lost mathematical glory and have to be put to bed, then the family would split up and spend the remaining time in solitude.

This Christmas was different; this Christmas was the first where he and Sherlock were… _whatever they were_ and at least on speaking terms. Sherlock had done so much to be proud of that Mycroft wanted to show his love to his brother; opening the line to Anthea he asked her to come into his office and begin to plot the perfect gift. 

* * *

 

It snowed on Christmas day; a fine dusting of white powder falling gracefully to the floor before melting onto London’s pavements. Sherlock watched it for hours, enjoying the calming sensation of following a particular flake to its inevitable demise on the wet pathway, he and Mycroft had not deemed it necessary to put up foolish decorations but instead, Sherlock had lit small tea light candles around the room, combined with the roaring fire the opulent living room looked festive and refined. Sherlock pulled himself away from the window and sat down on the sofa, pulling his legs under him he picked up his childhood diary and flicked through the pages;

_Today Mycroft went away. He’s going to become a ~~Solicitor~~ politician and live in London in a big house where I can visit anytime I want to, but I’m never going to visit him ever again. He has left me and now I have no friends, not even Redbeard (although I don’t know why Redbeard ran away. I loved him very, very much).I’m all on my own with mummy and daddy and the servants and I don’t want to be alone, I want Myc. I miss him already and he’s only been gone 1 hour, 16 minutes and 55 seconds._

Sherlock ran his fingers over the childish scrawl and sighed; he remembered the bitter loneliness of being the only child in the house along with the exclusion at school which only seemed to worsen when he began to dance properly. Sherlock startled as Mycroft entered the room and he pushed his diary under the cushion quickly before Mycroft could notice.

His brother held a large box; carefully wrapped with an intricate bow on top. Sherlock smiled and rolled his eyes “Becoming sentimental are you brother?”

Mycroft smiled and handed the box to Sherlock who was surprised at the weight. Looking up quizzically he ran his fingers over the package and tried to deduce its contents,

Mycroft rolled his eyes with a soft smile “you can open it now if you wish”

Sherlock teased out the motion of opening the box; his fingers sliding along the cardboard holding his gift before pulling off the lid and staring down at a beautiful Stradivarius violin. The strings perfectly tuned and the wood smooth and glossed to perfection, Sherlock’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open at the gift;

“Myc… I… You… It’s”

“A small token of my esteem brother mine, you used to play the violin so beautifully” Mycroft smiled wistfully “It’s the very least I could do.”

Sherlock held the violin in his hands, stroking the wood beneath in amazement at its beauty. His fingers plucked at the string and a chill went up his spine as the deep sound resonated around the firelit room.

“It’s beautiful. I have nothing I can compare to it”

Mycroft waved away the thought before sitting down in his seat and gesturing for Sherlock to play; the younger Holmes held the violin to his shoulder and took a deep breath before reaching for the bow and finally beginning his piece. A Tchaikovsky concerto which made both brothers stomach’s flutter as the beautiful sound ran through them,

“My god you’re beautiful” Mycroft whispered, watching Sherlock play. Sherlock couldn’t hear, already lost in the music as his fingers worked quickly.

Mycroft stood quickly and paced to Sherlock; stilling his hand he placed the expensive violin back into its special case before pulling Sherlock into a heated kiss, his hands tangling into the back of Sherlock’s dark curls to press him harder against his lips. Sherlock whined slightly and wrapped his arms around his brother’s waist, pulling him in closer until their chests rubbed and their growing hardness pressed against one another.

“I want you to take me, right here” Mycroft sighed, his lips swollen as he kissed along Sherlock’s sharp cheekbones. Sherlock nodded and was quickly pulled onto the soft carpeting by his brother; they continued their kisses, lazy and slow yet full of promise as they stretched out in front of the flickering flames of the fire.

Sherlock began to slowly undress his brother; piece by piece Mycroft’s tailored suit was thrown carelessly into a pile until the older Holmes was lying in nothing but his silk underwear, tented erotically with his impressive erection. Their lips continued to clash together, perfect friction forcing their lust higher and higher.

Sherlock kissed and nipped along Mycroft’s pale throat and jawline, his fingers moving down to stroke and caress his brothers tightened nipples. He scraped his fingers through the scratchy curls on Mycroft’s chest as his lips continued their journey with soft licks and strokes until he reached the silken prison of Mycroft’s cock. A growing wetness showing on the front where Mycroft was leaking onto the fabric in his desperation; Sherlock helped his brother wiggle out of the shorts before stroking his hand up and down the length of the hard shaft, flicking his wrist as he reached the leaky tip causing Mycroft to arch and gasp wantonly. Sherlock smiled and wrapped his lips around the head, his tongue exploring the small slit which oozed pearly precum.

Mycroft’s breath was stolen as he attempted to groan and inhale at the same time; the sensation of a hot and curious mouth over his cock was perfect but the thought that it was Sherlock, his Sherlock who was providing the sensations was almost enough to send him over the edge at the briefest of touches. A whimper escaped Mycroft’s lips as he attempted to calm himself, the orgasm which had built threatening to spill over without much more stimulation. Sherlock noticed his brother’s desperate stillness and stopped his motions until Mycroft could finally exhale and nod to Sherlock to continue,

“I want-” Sherlock started before blushing and looking away. Mycroft reached down and rested his hand against Sherlock’s cheek, lifting Sherlock’s head to focus on his brothers eyes.

“I want to taste you.” Sherlock admitted, enjoying the shaky inhale from Mycroft “I’ve never – I mean I haven’t… with anyone”

“Its okay” Mycroft soothed “Explore a little.”

Sherlock smiled softly and pressed a tender kiss on Mycroft’s palm before lowering his head again and taking Mycroft into his hot mouth, his tongue licking around the foreskin and into the slit to lick up the flowing precum.

Mycroft keened and attempted to keep his hips to the carpet; the need to buck and thrust into the warmth of Sherlock’s mouth almost too tempting but Mycroft fought his urges. Sherlock bobbed his head, taking more of Mycroft into his throat before pulling away and gagging with an angry look on his face. Mycroft smiled and entwined his fingers into Sherlock’s own as he lay, warmed by the fire and Sherlock’s own body.

Eventually, after a few minutes of nervous exploring, Sherlock began a rhythm; sucking Mycroft down before pulling off and licking the sensitive spongey head before repeating. His remaining hand wrapping around the bottom of the shaft to stroke it in time with his movements,

“Sh-Sherlock, close.” Mycroft whispered his face flushed and sweaty as he desperately fought to stave off his orgasm for a few more perfect moments.

Sherlock nodded and hummed; unaware of the vibrations he was sending down Mycroft’s cock, Mycroft’s eyes widened and his hips jerked before his orgasm crashed over him, he attempted to warn Sherlock but it was too late, his cock thickened and began to twitch sending spurts of hot cum into Sherlock’s mouth.

Sherlock startled slightly before swallowing; the texture was unlike anything he had experienced, the salty, bitter and musky taste of his brother so unusual and strange that Sherlock wasn’t sure he liked it or not. He continued to stroke Mycroft through his orgasm, his tongue licking the small bundle of nerves beneath the head as Mycroft shuddered and spent himself completely. Lying back Mycroft breathed heavily, the warmth of the room making him feel completely exhausted yet sated as Sherlock licked and nuzzled the softening cock between his legs.

The two lay silently snuggled against another in front of the fire as Mycroft caught his breath and relaxed as the afterglow of his orgasm washed over him. Cuddling Sherlock to his chest he kissed the soft curls;

“Myc?” Sherlock whispered into the silent room causing Mycroft to open his eyes and answer with a sleepy “hmm?”

“You were tested recently right?” Sherlock asked in a small and nervous voice,

Mycroft looked down at the curls resting on his chest before sitting up slightly, forcing Sherlock to look at him “Yes, why?”

“And it was all clear?”

Mycroft’s stomach was fluttering with anxiety but he kept his face stoic “of course. Sherlock what’s wrong?”

Sherlock inhaled deeply “Remember the ad campaign in the 80s? _Don’t die of ignorance_ ”

Mycroft nodded, he had remembered seeing it posted around pubs and bars as well as on the TV, media and radio.

“I never had sex, or any contact with people because of that campaign.”

Mycroft hid a smile at Sherlock’s sweet naivety; clutching him tighter to him.

“Is that why you insisted on the condom?” Mycroft asked carefully feeling Sherlock nod “But you want to try without?”

Sherlock nodded again, his face blushing crimson as his brother deduced his thoughts and feelings.

“Shall we go to bed? This floor isn’t helping my back” Mycroft smiled warmly, glancing around the room at his clothes before deciding to ignore the mess. Walking hand in hand, the brothers journeyed to their bedroom, slowly kissing at the foot of the bed.

“We can take it as slow as you like, or as fast. You’re in charge” Mycroft soothed, stroking Sherlock’s curls from his face.

Sherlock pressed his lips against his brothers; sighing contently as Mycroft began to undress him, stripping away the fine clothing until it pooled around their feet and both men stood naked beneath the dim light of the bedroom.

Mycroft allowed himself to be led to his usual side of the bed; Sherlock pushed him back and climbed alongside his brother, engulfing him in a hot kiss which briefly took his breath away. Mycroft ran his fingers through Sherlock’s curls, his mouth whispering endearments and compliments straight into Sherlock’s waiting lips. Desperation grew and Mycroft felt himself growing hard again despite his orgasm only minutes before,

Sherlock quickly positioned himself between his brothers thighs, the elder Holmes gasped as Sherlock traced his long, callused fingers over his most intimate area. Sherlock stilled for a moment, staring at Mycroft, seemingly deducing if he could continue before Mycroft nodded and Sherlock reached for the handy vial of lubricant on the dresser. Slicking his hands he quickly pressed a finger inside his brother, gasping at the warmth and grip of the muscles which fluttered under his digit. Mycroft groaned deeply and arched his back, a thin sheen of sweat covering his forehead and down his chest making the auburn hairs look darker.

The younger man replaced one finger with two, twisting and exploring the intimate space of his lover. Sherlock grinned happily as his fingers brushed over Mycroft’s prostate making him gasp and whimper, his body making S shapes as he writhed beneath Sherlock’s gaze. Sherlock added a third and final finger, feeling the tight skin stretch as he scissored his fingers in an attempt to loosen the tight muscles.

“I-I’m ready” Mycroft said breathlessly, not to rush his brother but to reassure him that he had done it correctly. Sherlock nodded and moved his lubed hand to his own cock, greasing himself before placing his tip at the warm ring.

“I-I” Sherlock started, his face blushing. “I’m nervous”

Mycroft took his hands from their grip in the bedding to stroke Sherlock’s beautiful cheekbones; his thumb rested on his cheek as the other fingers wrapped around Sherlock’s ear and jaw “Everything is okay”

Sherlock nodded and slowly pressed himself inside; gasping at the new sensation of skin on hot skin. He remembered the first night they had made love, how desperate and wanton Mycroft had seemed beneath him as Sherlock slowly ground his hips and thrust slowly. Sherlock desperately wanted to hear those sounds again,

Mycroft held the solid frame of the headboard above his as Sherlock slowly worked his way inside; stopping occasionally to hold himself back from the edge of climax or allow Mycroft to stretch around the hardness probing his insides. A low growl escaped his lips as Sherlock’s tip brushed his prostate sending a small trickle of precum to leak from his tip onto his stomach.

Sherlock grabbed for the pillow which Mycroft wasn’t leaning on and quickly placed it under his brother’s hips creating a better angle for both. Thrusting in and out, Sherlock gasped at the tight heat around him, forcing him to desperately fight against the coil of pleasure at the pit of his stomach which was fighting its way through his body.

“Myc… I can’t” Sherlock whimpered, his face flushed red as he desperately tried to hold back his climax.

“It’s fine baby brother” Mycroft moaned taking himself in hand and stroking in time with Sherlock’s shaky thrusts “Let go”

Sherlock came with a cry; his voice carrying through the bedroom and out into the hall as his climax washed over him and ropes of cum filled up Mycroft.

Mycroft held his shaking brother tightly, whispering encouragements into his ear as Sherlock came down from his orgasm. Sherlock allowed himself to be held and soothed for a moment, enjoying the warming sensations of being wrapped around his brother before realising that Mycroft hadn’t climaxed.

Sherlock ground his hips roughly, searching for the sensitive bundle of nerves whilst lifting himself to allow his fist to wrap around Mycroft’s still hard cock, rubbing his hand up and down the soft skin whilst his thumb spread the wetness over the twitching head. All too soon the familiar ticks of urgency had Sherlock’s attention as he watched Mycroft get closer to his release; a final stroke sent him spilling over the edge and over Sherlock’s fingers and his own lower stomach with a groan. Sherlock smiled and stroked him through the orgasm before pulling away and pulling his softening cock from the tight hole which now leaked cum from the inside.

Sherlock rushed to the bathroom; grabbing towels and a wet flannel he lovingly cleaned up Mycroft and himself before climbing in beside his brother and cuddling into the warm body. His fingers tracing the words _I love you_ repeatedly onto Mycroft’s skin. 

* * *

 

The Holmes brothers relationship continued on in the same way; they would fight and argue, sass and quip at one another whilst occasionally fighting and arguing over something which raised passion in them but always, they loved and adored one another most. Falling into bed on a regular basis to maintain their desperate need to be close to one another, one half of the same person.

Sherlock had established himself as a consulting detective for the Met and Scotland Yard. Working hard to maintain relationships with Lestrade and the government whilst running around the city he had taken on as his home. His homeless network overseen by Sandy was soon the biggest organisation in London, hundreds of informants working for Sherlock on both voluntary and paid cases. Sherlock used his money wisely, looking after those in the margins of society which he could have joined as an addict.

His relapses were infrequent; Mycroft had paid off (or threatened) his dealers and Lestrade had banned him from crime scenes whilst high which had driven Sherlock insane with boredom. He found that he didn’t need to use as often as he would have thought, his mind and body content with his lifestyle.

Mycroft and Sherlock worked together to set up Sherlock’s home in a small flat on Baker Street; the landlady Mrs Hudson was a fantastic and discreet woman who owed Sherlock a favour from his work on her husband’s death penalty case. The detective had fallen in love with the quaint flat immediately and set about moving in. His life was modest, working freelance before returning to Baker Street to complete experiments or do dull things such as sleep.

Until John Watson limped into his life.

The soldier had immediately intrigued the detective, his mannerisms and personality so different to other boring and dull _normal_ people. Sherlock had offered him the other room in Baker Street which John had taken thankfully before setting out on a very interesting case involving poison and a demented cab driver who John had killed to ensure Sherlock’s safety.

Slowly over time, Sherlock and John became closer; a platonic marriage of convenience which suited both men perfectly. Sherlock still found time for intimacy with Mycroft, spending nights at his brother’s house which John shrugged off as normal, thankful for the time alone to spend with his dates.

When Moriarty arrived on the scene, Sherlock’s life changed completely.

He had always been so sure of himself and his intelligence. The only other person who could compare was his brother and even then, Sherlock realised Mycroft was smarter and more conniving than he ever could be. The two brothers hardly discussed their talents which left Sherlock bereft when he finally came face to face with Moriarty and his vile tricks. His intellect matching Sherlock’s own as though the two men were the same sides of a coin, heads and tails, good and evil, right and wrong.

Sherlock shouldn’t have underestimated him. The man was dangerous, involved in multiple schemes which could destroy one person in a moment but Sherlock thought he could be cleverer, could outwit the consulting criminal and bring him down once and for all.

The fall had shown that to be impossible; Sherlock’s love for his friends had been his weakness. Mycroft had always instilled the idea that _caring is not an advantage_ which Sherlock had scoffed at. Especially as Mycroft cared _so much_ for his baby brother that he was willing to risk his livelihood, freedom and reputation to indulge in an incestuous relationship which had lasted more than ten years.

Sherlock’s ‘ _death_ ’ had destroyed those around him; Mrs Hudson who had loved the detective like a son had cried and grieved for her tenant. Lestrade had mourned the death of his friend, caring about the man from the first strange moment in his office when Sherlock had deduced his entire life. John had been hit the hardest, the emptiness surrounding him was almost too much and the doctor had taken to drinking to fill the void of Sherlock’s presence.

Mycroft had known Sherlock wasn’t dead. He had helped him stage his suicide but hadn’t been able to say goodbye before Sherlock was whisked away to Eastern Europe and into hiding. 

* * *

 

The house seemed strangely empty without Sherlock. Mycroft scoffed at his ridiculousness; Sherlock hadn’t lived in the townhouse for three years, moving out and into Baker Street had left Mycroft strangely bereft of his brother until he realised that he no longer had to endure hours of screeching violins at 4am when he was trying to sleep. The sound of Sherlock’s experiments exploding or setting off toxic gases had become a burden to the politician and he enjoyed having a clean kitchen _(despite the scorched wall behind the oven where Sherlock’s experiment had gone wrong and engulfed the wall in flames)_

Now Sherlock was ‘ _dead_ ’ Mycroft walked around his home, his fingers trailing over the dark wood as he remembered each moment they had spent together. Their nights of silent reading enjoying the quiet company, their passionate fucking against the walls or over the kitchen table, the slower love making sessions in front of the fire or in Mycroft’s bed which still held so many beautiful memories of Sherlock’s soft hair and silky pale skin.

Entering the spare room which had doubled as Sherlock’s storeroom whilst he lived with his brother, Mycroft glimpsed the bag which Sherlock had brought the first night he had stayed. He didn’t want to invade Sherlock’s privacy but he decided to go through the luggage incase there was anything important which Sherlock would want keeping. Lifting the bag onto the bed Mycroft pulled down his jacket and inhaled deeply before opening the zip and slowly removing the contents.

A few scattered pieces of clothing which held no significance as Mycroft had never seen his brother wear them; he quickly put them to one side and continued rummaging. His face broke into a smile as he ran his fingers over the soft fabric of Sherlock’s ballet slippers, remembering the beautiful dance which he had watched when Sherlock had first arrived and had started to go into withdrawal. Mycroft kept them to one side, deciding he needed to keep them.

A gilded photo frame was next showing the whole Holmes family at a much younger age. Sherlock was aged around 5 or 6; the bouncy curls nestled into his brother’s side as Mycroft wrapped his arm around Sherlock’s shoulder lovingly and held him tightly. Mummy and Daddy looking down with soft smiles at their children whilst Redbeard sat patiently for his treat which had been promised if he behaved. Mycroft felt a lump reach his throat before he swallowed it down and placed the frame next to the ballet shoes carefully.

The last item was something Mycroft remembered well. He had given Sherlock leather bound journal for his eighth birthday, explaining that Sherlock should write down anything he was unsure or confused about and they would discuss it. Mycroft stroked his fingers over the scrawled writing of a much younger Sherlock’s name and held it to his nose taking a deep breath of the faint aroma of leather and musk.

Mycroft opened the pages and smiled at the various pictures which dotted the pages, diagrams of bees and flowers. A map of the grounds of the Holmes manor complete with a pirate skull over the place where Sherlock and Mycroft would sit under the oak tree. A tug on his heart made Mycroft bite his lip to attempt to quell the emotion which lingered.

Flicking through the pages Mycroft stopped to read a few passages smiling with joy as Sherlock gushed about his school work or the deductions he had gotten right and the younger boys pride at Mycroft’s kind and supportive words. Mycroft read the passage in which Sherlock admitted he missed Mycroft already despite him only being gone an hour and choked back a sob at how upset his baby brother was at his abandonment.

He cried with no shame when he discovered Sherlock’s writing about his love for his brother and his wish for them to marry. Mycroft ran his fingers over the drawing of a crying Sherlock marrying his brother before collapsing onto the pillows, allowing his shuddered wails to be drowned out by the feathered cushions.

The older Holmes cried until he was hoarse; a broken and snotty mess he finally calmed himself and breathed deeply. Wishing that Sherlock could be there to hold him and trace words onto his skin.


End file.
